THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


LOS 


UNIVERSITY 
CALIFORNIA 
ANGELES 


THE  NIEMANS, 


REV.  MILTON  H.  STINE,  PH.  D., 


AUTHOR  OF 


"STUDIES   ON    THE    RELIGIOUS  PROBLEM    OF  OUR  COUNTRY," 

"A  WINTER  JAUNT  THROUGH  HISTORIC  LANDS." 


YORK,  PA.: 

P.  ANSTADT  &  SONS, 
185)7. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1897,  by 

M.  H.  STINE,  Ph.  D., 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PS 

3537 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  Niemans  presents  the  vicissitudes  of  which 
an  American  family  in  these  closing  years  of  the  nine 
teenth  century,  with  its  chances  for  travel,  develop 
ment,  and  changes  in  fortune,  is  capable. 

The  story,  whilst  not  a  true  history,  contains 
narratives  of  actual  occurrences.  For  instance,  the 
terrible  ordeal  through  which  Carrie  and  her  Hero  are 
made  to  pass  is  an  account  of  an  actual  occurrence. 

The  descriptions  of  natural  sceneries  are  the  result 
of  personal  observation  by  the  Author,  and  give  a  true 
idea  of  the  places  visited. 

The  story,  whilst  not  a  religious  novel,  preserves 
throughout  the  highest  moral  tone,  and  proves  con 
clusively  that 

"  Virtue,  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  soul, 
Is  the  best  gift  of  heaven." 

It  emphasizes  always  that  wealth  is  not  exempt 
from  disappointment  and  suffering,  and  that  the  moral, 
though  poor,  have  as  much  real  enjoyment  as  those 
who  roll  in  wealth. 


16343 


.^J-. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 
A  shocking  accident  and  a  sad  disappointment,  ....  9 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  history  and  a  mystery, .    ."         17 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  murder  threatened  and  a  precipitate  flight, 29 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  camping  party  and  some  strange  discoveries,  ....         37 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  fortune;  but  how  to  get  it? 47 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  narrow  escape 54 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Convalescent,     .       . 66 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Sad  memories  and  blessed  comforts, 72 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Dissolved  partnership, 79 

CHAPTER  X. 
Bravery  begets  confidence, 86 

CHAPTER  XI. 
She  loved  well  but  not  wisely, . 93 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Burros  and  Pueblos 102 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  divorce  and  how  it  was  obtained Hi 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Dr.  Burns  pops  the  question, E~,  122 


VI.  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XV. 
More  about  Sharp  and  Odlavia, 133 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Carrie  and  "the  hero"  have  an  evening  together,  .    .    .  143 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Sharp, 150 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
OSlavia  secures  her  agent, 157 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Peter  Gray's  visit  to  the  encampment  and  the  city  of  iron 

vigor, 164 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  cure  for  leprosy, 173 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Some  of  Sharp's  plans 183 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Very  sick, 194 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Afflictions, 201 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  business, 208 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  plunder  divided, 219 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  strange  experience 223 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Sharp's  bad  day 230 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
From  jest  to  earnest 237 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Felix  quits  the  Dives 245 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Felix  and  Sharp  in  the  home  of  the  Dives, 254 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Odlavia  is  rich  at  last, 262 


CONTENTS.  Vll. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Odlavia  is  engaged 270 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

On  the  wing, .    .        279 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Lost  in  the  mountains, 287 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Sundries, 296 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  trip  by  moonlight .        305 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Back  from  the  mountains  and  off  to  the  sea, 311 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A  terrible   experience, 325 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Sad  experiences, 333 

CHAPTER  XL. 

Somebody  in  the  house  is  dead, 341 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

"Carrie,  you  have  not  answered  me  that  question,"  .    .        350 
CHAPTER  XLH. 

A  great  crime, 357 

CHAPTER  XLHI. 

More  developments, 362 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
Some  very  happy  and  some  very  unhappy  people,    .    .    .        372 


THE  NIEMANS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  SHOCKING  ACCIDENT  AND  A   SAD   DISAPPOINTMENT. 

« 

' '  No  living  man  can  send  me  to  the  shades 
Before  my  time,  no  man  or  woman  born, 
Coward  or  brave,  can  shun  his  destiny." — Bryant. 

L,ate  one  afternoon,  June,  188-,  a  lady  sat  in  the 
waiting-room  of  the  Illinois  Central,  in  the  city  of 
Freeport.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  Her 
long,  crape  veil  was  thrown  over  her  right  shoulder 
displaying  the  left  side  of  her  face  and  sunken  eyes  in 
which  there  still  lingered  the  light  of  youth.  Phys 
ical  suffering  had  given  her  shoulders  a  slight  stoop. 
A  journey  of  nearly  thirteen  hundred  miles  accom 
plished  in  less  than  two  days,  had  wearied  her,  so  that 
now  as  she  arose  and  walked  to  the  door  and  to  the 
window,  as  she  frequently  did,  she  showed  the  weari 
ness  she  felt  by  soon  again  sitting  in  her  place  near 
the  ticket  office. 

A  stranger  looking  at  her  dress,  her  thin,  white 
hands,  and  her  pale,  marble-like  face,  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  know  whether  she  were  rich  or  poor. 
Neither  did  the  quiet  way  in  which  she  asked  her 
questions  speak  much  of  her  intelligence.  When  she 
•walked  to  the  ticket  office  and  asked  the  agent  when 
No.  10  freight  would  be  along,  she  spoke  in  a  low, 


10  A  SHOCKING  ACCIDENT 

musical  voice  which  betrayed  little  of  the  anxiety  she 
felt. 

There  are  times  in  life  when  the  most  stolid  are 
lashed  into  emotion  by  the  force  of  circumstances;  but 
for  a  woman,  and  that  woman  a  mother  in  search  of  a 
banished  boy,  to  be  calm  in  all  her  demeanor  is 
scarcely  probable  or  possible.  The  woman  had  long 
been  a  pupil  in  trie  school  of  sorrow,  and  had  learned 
the  bitterest  lessons. 

Mrs.  Nieman,  for  that  was  the  lady's  name,  knew 
that  her  son  Nicholas,  more  commonly  called  Nick, 
was  employed  on  freight  train  No.  10,  on  the  Illinois 
Central  Railroad.  So  she  had  been  told  by  the  super 
intendent  who  kept  the  time  of  the  men  on  that  part 
of  the  road.  The  conductor  of  the  train  which  had 
brought  Mrs.  Nieman  from  Chicago,  had  told  her  that 
Freeport  was  the  best  place  for  her  to  see  her  boy. 
The  train  on  which  he  was  employed  always  stopped 
From  one  to  two  hours  in  that  city.  She  had  already 
been  in  the  depot  an  hour,  and  the  time  for  freight 
No.  10  had  arrived.  Just  then  the  station-agent  told 
her  that  No.  10  had  been  delayed  an  hour  at  Polo, 
and  would  consequently  not  be  along  for  about  that 
length  of  time. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  after  this  time  the  rum 
bling  of  an  express  train  was  heard.  As  the  train 
drew  up  to  the  station,  Mrs.  Nieman  went  to  the  win 
dow  and  pulling  her  veil  over  her  face  looked  through 
its  dark  meshes  at  what  could  be  seen  in  the  train. 

Some  women  when  young  and  handsome,  like  to 


AND  A  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT.  II 

be  stared  at,  and  are  never  happier  than  when  they 
are  conscious  that  they  are  attracting  attention.  This 
fondness  for  being  observed  continues  when  crow- feet 
are  more  evident  than  blushes,  and  the  lips  have  lost 
their  roses,  and  the  eyes  their  sparkle. 

Mrs.  Nieman  was  not  a  beauty,  nor  did  she  at  any 
time  in  her  life  love  to  be  stared  at,  or  to  stare  at 
others.  Now  that  sorrow  filled  her  heart,  and  the 
evidences  of  her  journey  detracted  from  her  personal 
appearance,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face.  If  she 
had  not  done  so  she  might  have  materially  changed 
her  future;  but  so  it  is,  very  often  a  mere  trifle  deter 
mines  a  destiny. 

Soon  the  train  rolled  cut  of  the  station  on  its  way  to 
Dubuque.  Mrs.  Nieman  turned  listlessly  from  the 
window,  and  seated  herself  in  her  chosen  place  by  the 
ticket  window.  She  did  not  know  how  long  she  sat, 
but  she  felt  that  she  had  slept,  when  the  station-mas 
ter  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder,  and  informed  her  that 
the  train  she  was  waiting  for  had  arrived.  He  said  he 
would  call  her  sou  into  the  depot  to  meet  her. 

The  station-master  had  not  seen  any  of  the  crew  as 
yet,  and  did  not  know  what  had  caused  the  delay  in 
the  train's  arrival.  His  surprise  may  therefore  be  im 
agined  when  he  learned  from  the  conductor  that  the 
front  brakeman  had  been  run  over  by  the  engine  and 
had  been  crushed  out  of  all  human  semblance.  At 
Polo  the  engine  had  been  detached  and  had  taken  the 
usual  supply  of  water.  The  signal  had  been_given, 
and  the  engineer  thought  he  saw  Nick  Niemau,  the 


12  .A  SHOCKING  ACCIDENT 

front  brakeman,  standing  against  the  front  car  await 
ing  the  engine.  The  engineer  had  backed,  and  had 
awaited  the  signal  that  the  coupling  had  been  made; 
but  when  the  signal  was  not  given  and  the  engineer 
could  not  see  the  front  brakeman,  the  fireman  had  dis 
mounted,  and  on  going  back,  was  shocked  to  find  a 
human  body  literally  crushed  into  a  mass  of  bleeding 
flesh.  The  head,  trunk,  and  one  limb  did  not  contain 
a  whole  bone. 

A  jury  had  been  hastily  summoned,  and  their  ver- 
dicl:  was  that  the  front  brakeman,  known  as  Nick  Nie- 
man,  had  come  to  his  death  by  accidentally  falling  on 
the  track  as  the  engine  was  being  backed  to  couple  to 
the  train.  It  was  this  that  caused  the  delay  of  the 
train  No.  10,  on  the  day  that  Mrs.  Nieman  sat  in  the 
depot  at  Freeport  waiting  for  her  son. 

Every  human  soul,  unless  totally  dead  to  the  higher 
sensibilities  which  distinguish  man  from  the  brute, 
suffers  when  it  witnesses  that  which  causes  distress  in 
the  bosom  of  a  fellow  being.  It  was  this  which  caused 
the  station-master  to  open  his  mouth  and  look  strangely 
at  the  engineer  who  told  him  of  the  accident  to  the 
front  brakeman.  Finally  he  managed"  to  say,  "  That 
young  man's  mother  is  now  in  the  station  waiting  for 
him."  This  enlisted  the  sympathy  of  the  engineer 
and  the  crew.  After  discussing  the  situation  a  mo 
ment  they  agreed  that-  the  station-master,  who  alone 
knew  Mrs.  Nieman,  had  best  inform  her  of  the  death 
of  her  supposed  son. 

The  station-master  was  a  man  of  fine  sensibilities. 


AND  A  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT.  13 

For  this  reason  communicating  the  sad  intelligence  just 
received  was  for  him  a  difficult  task.  He  could  readily 
tell  the  people  which  of  the  two  trains  daily  leaving 
the  station,  would  bring  them  quickest  to  the  city  of 
Chicago.  He  never  hesitated  to  give  such  informa 
tion  in  language  polite  and  easily  understood.  Then, 
too,  he  knew  which  road  ran  through  the  richest  lands 
beyond  the  Mississippi,  and  he  was  willing  to  answer 
the  most  trying  and  trivial  questions  for  all  the  people 
who  were  dissatisfied  with  their  lot  and  thought  to 
better  it  by  going  farther  west;  but  this  duty  of  com 
municating  the  sad  news  to  the  waiting  mother  of  the 
death  of  her  son,  when  she  hoped  to  see  him  that  very 
moment,  alive  and  well,  was  new  and  exceedingly  un 
pleasant. 

He  had  arrived  at  the  depot  before  he  had  really 
thought  of  just  how  he  would  begin  to  deliver  his 
strange,  sad  message  to  the  woman  who,  he  had  no 
ticed,  was  already  dressed  in  the  habiliments  of 
mourning.  But  a  woman  as  thoroughly  educated  in 
the  school  of  sorrow  as  was  Mrs.  Nieman,  a  woman 
who  by  a  strange  presentiment  knows  when  anything 
awful  is  about  to  occur,  is  seldom  overcome  when  at 
last  she  stands  face  to  face  with  that  which  tries  men's 
nerves,  and  wrings  a  woman's  heart.  Mrs.  Nieman 
was  such  a  woman,  and  the  first  to  say  anything  co 
herent.  "Tell  me,"  she  said,  "  is  Nicholas  dead  ?" 

By  this  time  some  of  the  crew  of  the  train  had  come 
into  the  station,  and  slowly  but  surely,  Mrs.  Nieman 
became  acquainted  with  the  facts.  She  learned  too, 


14  A  SHOCKING  ACCIDENT 

that  the  front  brakeman  had  taken  his  place  on  the 
train  at  Bloomington  that  morning,  without  speaking 
to  anyone  except  from  a  distance;  but  he  had  faithfully 
attended  to  his  duty  until  the  catastrophy  at  Polo. 

It  seemed  to  the  engineer  that  Nick  looked  stouter 
than  a  few  days  before,  when  he  had  temporarily  left 
the  road  on  account  of  a  severe  illness  which  unhap 
pily  soon  terminated  and  enabled  him  to  return  to  his 
job  in  time  to  lose  his  life.  The  engineer  confessed 
that  he  had  spoken  to  Nick  only  at  a  distance  that 
morning.  A  new  fireman  having  come  to  him  that 
day,  he  was  busy  watching  him. 

Mrs.  Nieman  listened  to  the  account  of  her  son's 
death  without  asking  any  questions,  or  in  any  way 
interrupting  the  engineer  who  narrated  the  sad  occur 
rence.  When  he  had  finished,  all  was  silence  for  a  few 
moments.  The  men  looked  at  each  other  without 
knowing  what  was  the  best  thing  to  say  or  do.  Mrs. 
Nieman  was  the  first  to  find  her  voice.  She  quietly 
asked  what  had  been  done  with  her  son's  remains. 
The  conductor  told  her  that  after  the  jury  had  viewed 
the  body,  and  had  learned  that  Nicholas  had  no  rela 
tives  in  the  state,  they  had  recommended  that  the 
body  should  be  taken  charge  of  by  the  company  in 
whose  employment  he  had  been,  but  that  he,  knowing 
that  Nicholas  Nieman  had  relatives  in  Pennsylvania, 
had  concluded  to  bring  the  body  to  Freeport.  On  ar 
riving  there  he  had  intended  to  consult  the  railroad 


AND  A  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT.  1 5 

authorities  as  to  telegraphing  to  his  friends  in  the  east, 
asking  for  instruction  as  to  what  disposition  should  be 
made  of  the  remains.  The  body,  he  added,  was  very 
much  mutilated  and  would  with  difficulty  be  shipped 
to  the  old  home. 

Mrs.  Nieman  at  once  asked  to  see  the  body.  The 
men  again  looked  at  each  other.  They  tacitly  agreed 
that  it  was  not  best  for  the  mother  to  see  the  mangled 
form  of  her  boy,  so  the  conductor  said :  "  Mrs.  Nieman, 
your  son  is  very  much  mangled,  and  on  the  whole  we 
think  it  best  that  you  be  spared  the  pain  which  a  view 
of  the  corpse,  in  its  present  condition  would  necessar 
ily  give  you.  'We  will  ask  the  company  to  have  your 
son's  remains  taken  to  the  undertaker,  and  to-morrow, 
when  we  have  done  the  best  we  can  for  it,  we  will 
show  you  the  body."  Mrs.  Nieman  was  put  into  a 
hack  and  taken  to  the  hotel  where  her  son  had 
boarded. 

The  undertaker  had  vainly  endeavored  to  so  arrange 
the  remains  that  the  mother  could  view  and  recognize 
them  and  he  had  done  the  best  under  the  circum 
stances,  to  make  the  body  presentable.  A  napkin  was 
laid  over  the  crushed  head.  (The  train  having  been 
uncoupled  at  the  crossing,  the  head  of  the  unfortunate 
had  been  caught  between  the  iron  rail  and  the  heavy 
plank  of  the  crossing,  and  literally  crushed  out  of 
shape. )  Mrs.  Nieman  did  not  lift  the  napkin  from  the 
mass  of  crushed  bone  and  torn  flesh.  The  mangled 


1 6  A  SHOCKING  ACCIDENT 

arm  and  side  were  neatly  encased  in  a  shroud,  so  that 
Mrs.  N.  really  saw  very  little  of  the  effect  of  the  en 
gine's  work;  nor  did  she  recognize  anything  in  the 
coffined  remains  that  made  her  either  certain  or  un 
certain  that  she  saw  the  body  of  her  boy. 

The  watch-pocket  on  the  corpse's  pantaloons  bore 
the  inscription,  "  Nicholas  Nieman.  30,  7-16,  188-" 
and  the  tailor's  name.  This  inscription  made  the  un 
dertaker  feel  sure  that  there  could  be  no  mistake  in 
the  identity.  "It  was  Nicholas  Nieman,"  he  said, 
"  the  pantaloons  proved  that." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

"Mystery  such  as  is  given  of  God,  is  beyond  the  power  of 
human  penetration,  yet  not  in  opposition  to  it." 

— Madame  de  Stael. 

The  time  for  a  fuller  introduction  into  Nick  Nie- 
man's  family  has  come.  Inasmuch  as  the  writer  of 
every  biography  devotes  some  time  to  the  describing 
of  the  birth-place  and  early  surroundings  of  the  per 
sons  whose  life-history  he  is  writing,  we  feel  it  a  duty 
to  lead  our  readers,  in  imagination,  to  the  pleasant 
village  where  Nicholas  Nieman  and  all  the  Nieman 
children  first  saw  the  light  of  day.  This  village  is  lo 
cated  in  eastern  Pennsylvania.  It  is  not  a  famous 
town,  and  would  have  been  little  known,  but  for  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  birth-place  of  the  Niemans.  To 
prove  to  the  average  reader  that  it  was  not  a  famous 
town  before  this  story  brought  it  notoriety,  we  need 
only  remind  him  that  it  never  sent  any  of  its  sons  to 
the  state  legislature  or  to  the  halls  of  congress.  It  has, 
however,  always  furnished  its  own  justice  of  the  peace, 
who  has,  as  a  rule,  discarded  "  party,  friendship, 
kind,"  and  never  received  "boodle"  or  gave  it,  in 
the  discharge  of  his  official  duties.  The  fact  that  such 

officers  sat  on  the  official  bench  in  the  town  of 

is  in  itself  sufficient  to  distinguish  it;  for  it  is  a- well 


1 8  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

known  truth  that  greater  towns  and  cities  than  this 

same can  seldom  boast  of  such  official  capacity 

among  their  rulers. 

It  may  be  that  the  location  of  the  town  itself,  in  a 
part  of  the  country  where  some  of  the  voters  still  cast 
their  vote  for  Andrew  Jackson  at  every  election,  has 
something  to  do  with  the  honesty  of  its  public  officers. 
The  town  is  beautifully  situated  on  a  gentle  declivity. 
At  the  base  of  the  hill  upon  which  the  town  is  located 
there  flows  a  creek,  upon  the  banks  of  which  Nicholas 
and  his  sister  Eliza  used  to  fish;  but  they  seldom 
caught  anything  before  they  got  home  and«  unwil 
lingly  exhibited  their  torn  and  soiled  clothing.  The 
truth  of  the  matter  is,  the  creek  contained  few  fish, 
and  these  were  difficult  to  catch;  but  it  holds  a  secret 
which  this  story  of  the  Nieman  family  will  gradually 
unfold,  and  which  alone  makes  this  little  stream 
worthy  of  mention  in  this  biography. 

Another  characteristic  of  the  town  of is  one 

common  to  towns,  but  we  must  mention  it.  The 
town  contained  a  n-eat  brick  church,  surrounded  by  a 
grave- yard,  as  the  people  call  the  cemetery  in  that 
locality.  Quite  close  to  this  church  and  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  grave-yard,  stood  the  neat  white  house 
which  was  the  home  of  the  Niemans.  In  the  day 
time  when  there  were  no  funerals,  the  Nieman  chil 
dren  would  play  in  the  grave-yard.  Among  the  many 
graves  there  was  one  of  a  murdered  man.  Some  years 
before  the  Nieman  children  were  born,  a  man  whom 
no  one  in  the  neighborhood  knew,  was  found  in  the 


A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY.  19 

ravine  of  the  creek  we  have  already  mentioned.  His 
head  was  lying  in  the  water.  He  had  been  stabbed  in 
the  heart,  apparently  by  some  one  who  had  come  upon 
him  from  behind,  and  unexpectedly,  as  he  had  evi 
dently  died  without  a  struggle.  So  far  no  clue  to  the 
perpetrator  of  the  deed  had  been  found.  Over  this 
grave  the  children  would  scam  per  whilst  the  sun  shone; 
but  when  twilight  came,  not  all  the  sweet-meats  in  the 
village  store  would  have  been  sufficient  to  tempt  them 
to  go  near  it.  When  the  moon  shone  brightly,  they 
always  imagined  the  dark  shadows  of  the  cypress 
tree  which  at  certain  hours  fell  on  the  grave,  to  be  a 
mantled  and  hooded  figure,  solemnly  standing  on  that 
grave. 

The  Nieman  children  went  to  church  before  they 
remembered.  They  were  .accustomed  to  sit  in  the 
high-backed  pews  with  their  feet  dangling  in  mid-air, 
and  when  they  went  to  sleep  without  being  well 
toward  the  back  of  the  pew,  which  was  seldom  the 
case,  they  would  occasionally  fall  into  consciousness 
with  a  thud  on  the  floor.  Of  course  the  domine 
who  preached  in  that  church  only  once  in  four  weeks, 
and  who  therefore  had  much  to  say  when  he  did 
preach,  was  entirely  oblivious  to  all  such  slight  noises 
as  those  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  a  youngster  or  two. 

But  the  home-life  itself  is  the  most  important  in  the 
formation  of  character.  It  is  to  the  home  of  the  Nie- 
mans,  therefore,  that  we  must  not  forget  to  introduce 
our  readers.  Nick  was  the  youngest  of  three  children 
born  to  George  Nieman  and  his  wife  Hanna.  Nick's 


20  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

father  was  the  best  physician  in  the  neighborhood  in 
which  the  Nieinans  lived.  As  long  as  he  kept  sober 
he  was  eagerly  sought  after.  I/ater  in  his  life  he  had 
taken  to  drinking,  and  gradually  but  surely  he  went 
the  downward  road,  until  three  years  before  Nick  was 
born  the  doctor  had  become  a  perfect  sot. 

When  Nick  was  ten  years  old  the  doctor  was  called 
out  one  evening  to  attend  a  case  of  extreme  illness. 
He  did  not  return  home  that  night;  but  Mrs.  Nieman 
was  unconcerned,  because  he  frequently  remained 
away  from  home  under  similar  circumstances.  A 
rule  to  which  Dr.  Nieman  strictly  adhered,  was 
never  to  attend  a  patient  or  to  prescribe  for  one,  when 
he  himself  was  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  He 
would  spend  days  at  a  time  drinking,  but  never  at 
such  times  was  he  "at  home  "  to  any  one.  When  he 
would  come  out  of  a  spree  he  would  attend  to  his  busi 
ness  and  remain  perfectly  sober  for  days.  His  friends 
noticed  that  each  drinking-bout  left  him  weaker,  more 
irritable,  and  more  unreliable. 

But  to  return  to  the  night  in  question, —  though  Mrs. 
N.  gave  herself  no  concern  when  her  husband  did  not 
come  home,  on  this  particular  evening  she  was  filled 
with  strange  presentiments  that  something  was  not 
right  with  the  doctor,  and  that  a  great  sorrow  was  in 
store  for  her. 

The  first  evidence  she  had  that  something  had 
happened  was  next  morning,  when  the  horse 
and  buggy  with  which  her  husband  had  gone 
away,  stood  at  the  front  gate  of  the  Nieman  home. 


A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY.  21 

Whilst  she  was  trying  to  determine  whether  the  horse 
had  broken  loose  and  come  home,  or  whether  the  doctor 
had  brought  him,  a  messenger  came  running  toward 
her,  apparently  greatly  excited.  As  soon  as  he 
could  get  his  breath,  he  said,  "I  am  Jake  Smith's 
hired  man.  Jake  found  your  husband  in  the  road 
opposite  our  barn,  with  a  hole  in  his  head,  and  cold 
and  stiff  as  a  poker.  So  he  sent  me  to  kind  o'  gently 
tell  you,  that  perhaps  the  doctor  was  dead,  or  very 
sick.  I  most  forgit  what  he  did  tell  me  to  say;  but 
these  are  the  facts,  and  facts  is  stranger  than  fiction." 

Soon  the  doctor  was  brought  home.  He  had  two 
holes  in  his  head.  The  one  looked  as  if  it  might  have 
been  made  by  the  edge  of  a  horse  shoe.  Whether  he 
had  been  thrown  out  of  his  buggy,  and  struck  his 
head  on  the  sharp  stone  which  was  found  near  him, 
full  of  blood  and  hair,  and  which  exactly  fitted  the 
one  hole  in  his  head,  could  not  be  satisfactorily  deter 
mined  by  the  farmer  jury.  If  he  fell  on  the  stone  the 
horse  evidently  kicked  him  afterward,  for  he  had  two 
holes,  and  there  was  only  one  blood-stained  stone. 
One  thing  seemed  strange.  His  watch  and  purse 
were  both  gone;  and  as  they  could  not  be  found  in  his 
home,  the  conclusion  arrived  at  was  that  some  one  had 
stolen  them  from  him  that  night.  But  they  saw  no 
one  wearing  the  watch,  nor  spending  the  doctor's 
money,  so  the}7  gave  their  loss  up  as  a  mystery. 

Mrs.  Nieman  felt  the  loss  of  her  husband  all  the 
more  keenly,  because  he  died  so  unexpectedly  and 
mysteriously.  She  was  now  left  a  widow  with  three 


22  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

children.  The  oldest  child  was  a  son,  Lee  by 
name;  the  second  was  a  daughter,  eleven  years  of  age; 
the  third  was  Nick,  to  whom  we  have  already  been 
introduced. 

After  the  doctor's  estate  was  settled  it  was  found 
that  only  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars  remained  for 
the  widow  and  her  children.  Mrs.  Nieman's  father, 
who  was  in  comfortable  circumstances,  therefore  in 
vited  her  to  his  home.  Here  she  still  resided  at  the 
opening  of  this  story. 

Lee  Nieman,  the  oldest  of  the  family,  soon  became 
quite  a  help  to  his  grandfather.  He  assisted  with  the 
work  on  the  farm  in  the  summer  and  attended  public 
school  in  winter.  When  he  was  seventeen  years  of 
age  he  obtained  a  teacher's  certificate  and  was  selected 
by  the  directors  of  his  district  to  teach  the  same  school 
in  which  he  had  been  a  pupil.  He  continued  teaching 
during  the  winter  and  going  to  school  during  the  sum 
mer,  until  he  was  twenty  years  old.  Having  made  up 
his  mind  to  become  a  physician,  he  entered  the  medi 
cal  department  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  He 
graduated  with  credit,  and  in  a  few  years  he  moved 
into  the  very  home  in  which  he  was  born.  Here  he 
soon  won  the  confidence  of  the  people,  and  gained  a 
large  practice. 

Octavia,  the  only  daughter  of  the  family,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  was  a  haughty  child.  Her  name 
received  at  her  baptism  was  Eliza.  Her  mother  called 
her,  "Liza, "  for  short;  but  the  child  did  not  like  Eliza. 
Liza  she  abominated.  When  she  was  twelve  years  old, 


A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY.  23 

she  read  about  Odlavia,  the  devoted  and  loving  wife  of 
Mark  Anthony.  She  resolved  that  just  as  soon  as 
possible  she  would  adopt  the  name,  Odlavia.  When 
she  introduced  herself  to  strangers  she  said  her  name 
was  Octavia;  but  her  mother  and  schoolmates  continued 
to  call  her  Liza.  So  long  as  she  stayed  at  her  grand 
father's  she  was  plain  Liza.  When  she  was  fifteen 
years  old  she  learned  dress  making.  At  eighteen  she 
had  saved  enough  to  enable  her  to  enter  the  nurses' 
training-school  in  connection  'with  the  hospital  on 
Blackwells  Island,  New  York.  Being  a  physician's 
daughter,  she  had  no  tuition  to  pay.  Here  we  will 
leave  her  for  the  present.  Among  her  classmates  she 
is  known  as  Odlavia  Newman.  This,  therefore,  is  her 
name  for  the  future,  but  it  costs  her  more  annoyance 
as  we  shall  presently  see,  than  if  she  had  remained 
plain  Eliza  Nietnan, 

Nick  Nieman,  having  been  born  when  his  father 
was  near  the  end  of  his  career,  did  not  inherit  as  strong 
a  constitution  as  the  other  children.  The  Niemans 
were  noted  for  their  strength  of  character.  This  they 
inherited  largely  from  their  mother.  Before  the 
father  fell  into  the  drink-habit,  we  must  confess,  there 
was  no  more  reliable  man  to  be  found  in  all  that  neigh 
borhood.  Nicholas  felt  in  more  ways  than  one  the 
effect  of  his  father's  evil  habit.  The  facl  that  others 
as  well  as  we  ourselves  will  bear  the  consequences  of 
our  evil  lives  ought  to  deter  us  from  sin,  even  if  we 
do  not  care  for  our  own  future.  The  great  law  of  he 
redity,  so  plainly  stated  in  the  first  commandment. 


24  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

brings  curses  to  many,  where  if  the  parents  had  lived 
virtuously,  it  would  have  brought  blessings. 

When  Nick  was  seventeen  he  was  not  as  strong  as 
his  brother  had  been  at  the  same  age;  but  he  was  by 
no  means  an  invalid.  His  grandfather  never  seemed 
to  like  him  as  well  as  he  did  the  other  children  of  the 
Nieman  family.  He  seemed  to  regard  him  as  a  sort 
of  a  scape-goat  of  his  father's  sins.  We  are  not  sur 
prised,  therefore,  to  know  that  the  old  gentleman  said 
to  him,  soon  after  he  had  passed  his  eighteenth  birth 
day,  "  Nicholas,  you  have  eaten  my  bread  for  more 
than  six  years,  without  earning  it.  You  are  not  likely 
to  be  of  much  use  to  me  or  anybody  else.  You  had 
better  put  on  your  Sunday  clothes  and  go  West  or 
somewhere.  Here  is  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  to 
start  you." 

Nick  took  the  money  and  the  next  day  started  West. 
He  rode  on  a  freight  train  and  kept  the  double  eagle 
in  his  pocket,  a  nest-egg  for  his  future  fortune.  At 
Pittsburg  he  saw  a  breakman  lose  his  life  between  two 
cars.  He  immediately  offered  himself  to  take  the 
place  made  vacant.  His  wish  was  made  known  to  the 
proper  authorities  and  Nick  became  rear  brakeman  on 
a  train  bound  for  Chicago.  He  continued  a  brakeman 
on  the  Fort  Wayne  and  Chicago  railroad  for  more  than 
a  year.  He  learned  to  know  the  city  thoroughly;  but 
always  avoided  the  temptation  which  had  robbed  his 
father  of  his  strength  and  usefulness.  After  some 
hesitation  he  was  persuaded  to  accept  a  more  lucrative, 


A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY.  25 

but   more  irksome  position  on  the  road  mentioned  in 
the  former  chapter. 

Mrs.  Nieman  had  learned  through  a  neighbor,  who 
had  been  on  a  visit  to  Freeport,  that  he  had  frequently 
seen  her  son  in  the  city,  and  believed  him  to  be  indus 
trious  and  sober.  Nick,  whilst  on  the  road  between 
Pittsburgh  and  Chicago,  had  frequently  written  to  his  : 
mother.  When  he  left  Chicago  he  had  told  her  that  he 
would  not  write  any  more  until  he  had  made  his  for 
tune.  This  had  caused  his  mother  to  leave  her  home 
in  quest  of  her  boy,  and  if  possible,  persuade  him  to 
return  home  with  her. 

The  day  following  the  events  narrated  in  the  former, 
chapter,  the  remains  were  buried  by  the  railroad  com 
pany.  The  funeral  services  were  held  at  the  parlors 
of  the  hotel  at  which  Nick  had  boarded.  Strange  to 
say,  nothing  belonging  to  him  could  be  found  in  the 
room  which  he  had  left  only  two  days  before,  with  the 
evident  expectation  of  again  returning.  On  the  day 
before  his  death  he  had  paid  his  bill,  and  had  told  the 
clerk  that  he  thought  some  of  going  farther  west.  It 
seemed  so  strange  that  not  over  two  dollars  in  money 
could  be  found  in  the  pockets  of  the  dead  man.  The 
hotel  clerk  said  that  when  he  paid  his  bill  he  had  quite 
a  roll  of  bank-bills  remaining.  He  had  jokingly  said 
he  would  keep  them  toward  his  fortune. 

The  fact  that  so  little  money  was  found  on  the  body 
of  the  dead  man  threw  a  mystery  about  the  sad 
occurrence  which  no  one  could  satisfactorily  explain. 
What  became  of  the  roll  of  bills  ?  If  Nick  had  been 


26  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

robbed,  he  had  certainly  not  said  a  word  to  any  one. 
From  the  time  he  had  left  his  room  at  the  hotel  until 
his  body  was  brought  back,  two  days  intervened.  The 
last  twenty-four  hours  of  his  life  he  had  been  seen  by 
different  persons  on  the  road.  First  he  had  gone  on  a 
passenger  train  from  Freeport  to  Bloomington,  and  a 
few  hours  after  his  arrival  and  reporting  for  duty,  he 
had  been  on  the  train.  What  Nicholas  had  done  the 
day  previous  no  one  knew.  One  of  his  acquaintances 
on  the  very  day  that  Nicholas  was  killed,  had  gone  to 
a  second-hand  store  to  purchase  a  satchel,  and  to  his 
surprise,  the  satchel  he  had  purchased  had  the  address 
of  Nicholas  Nieman — partly  erased,  it  is  true,  but 
still  legible — written  on  the  inside  of  it.  Mrs.  Nieman 
had  identified  this  satchel  as  the  very  one  her  son  had 
purchased  when  he  left  his  grandfather's  home.  She 
herself  had  suggested  that  he  should  write  his  name 
into  it.  When  the  second-hand  man  was  asked  with 
regard  to  it,  he  seemed  to  know  very  little  as  to  how 
he  had  gotten  possession  of  it.  First  he  said  he  pur 
chased  it  with  a  lot  of  household  goods;  but  when  it 
was  shown  that  this  statement  could  not  be  correct, 
he  said  a  young  man,  to  whose  personal  appearance  he 
had  paid  no  attention,  had  brought  it.  He  did  know, 
however,  he  said,  that  the  man  did  not  look  like  a  rail 
roader,  but  more  like  a  student.  Finally  he  refused 
to  answer  any  more  questions.  He  said  he  remem 
bered  too  little  of  the  man  who  brought  it,  to  say  any 
thing  definite. 


A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY.  2? 

The  clerk  in  the  Hotel  remembered  that  Nicholas 
had  a  satchel  iu  his  hand  when  he  paid  his  bill.  He 
had  asked  Mr.  Nienian  whether  he  were  leaving,  and 
he  had  replied  that  he  expected  to  return,  but  just 
how  long  he  would  remain  when  he  did  come  back  he 
could  not  say.  He  told  the  clerk  not  to  hold  his  room 
for  him.  He  could  get  that  or  another,  when  he  did 
return. 

Some  of  Nicholas'  friends  held  to  the  theory  that  he 
himself  had  sold  the  satchel  and  bought  a  trunk, 
because  it  was  known  that  he  had  accumulated  too 
many  books  and  clothing  whilst  at  the  hotel,  to  put 
them  into  a  satchel.  Nicholas  had  been  accustomed 
to  shut  himself  into  his  room  during  his  spare  hours, 
and  when  asked  by  his  companion  what  he  was  doing, 
he  would  reply  that  he  was  trying  to  finish  his  educa 
tion.  But  no  books  were  left  in  his  room  and  none  of 
them  could  be  found  in  the  second-hand  stores,  so  it 
was  concluded  that  some  one  must  have  stolen  his  per 
sonal  effects. 

Others  of  his  friends  were  suspicious  that  if  the 
dead  man  was  not  Nicholas  Nieman,  a  young  man 
whom  Nicholas  had  introduced  as  a  cousin  from  the 
West,  and  who  had  disappeared  just  about  the  time  of 
the  accident,  knew  something  of  Nicholas'  where 
abouts.  But  no  one  seemed  to  know  who  this  young 
man  was  or  whence  he  had  gone.  Mrs.  Nieman  her 
self  knew  of  none  of  her  relatives  who  had  recently 
gone  West.  Of  course  all  these  strange  incidents 
with  regard  to  Nicholas  caused  considerable  gossip. 


28  A  HISTORY  AND  A  MYSTERY. 

Some  even  suggested  that  he  might  have  given  his 
things  away  and  then  committed  suicide.  If  any  one 
had  his  possessions,  it  was  not  at  all  likely  that  they 
would  speak  of  it,  now  that  there  were  so  many 
strange  rumors. 

Mrs.  Nieman  had  little  hope  that  her  son  was  not 
dead.  She  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  all  the 
strange  things  in  connection  with  his  selling  his 
satchel  and  the  absence  of  all  his  personal  effects,  and 
the  unknown  companion ;  but  she  felt  sure  that  if  he 
were  alive  and  read  the  papers,  which  contained  the 
account  of  the  accident  and  his  mother's  visit,  he 
would  think  too  much  of  her  to  let  her  endure  the 
sorrow  he  knew  his  supposed  death  would  be  sure  to 
cause  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MURDER   THREATENED   AND   A   PRECIPITATE 
FLIGHT. 

' '  My  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  me." — Addison. 

For  triumph  of  the  engineer's  skill  and  for  grandeur 
and  sublimity  of  scenery,  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande 
railroad  is  unsurpassed  by  any  road  on  the  American 
continent.  It  is  justly  called  the  "  Scenic  line  of  the 
World."  Many  are  the  stories  of  hairbreadth  escapes, 
sudden  and  thrilling  death,  and  sublime  heroism,  said 
to  have  occurred  in  the  construction  of  this  road.  In 
addition  to  these,  there  are  others  of  laborers  who 
were  robbed  and  murdered  for  their  wages,  or  who, 
after  weeks  of  hard  toil,  lost  their  all  in  a  single  night 
of  debauchery.  Why  must  dens  of  infamy  of  every 
kind  be  planted  wherever  the  civilizing  hand  of  man 
opens  a  harbor,  builds  a  railroad,  or  lays  the  founda 
tion  of  a  city  ?  Why  should  these  persons  who  labor 
hardest  for  their  money,  be  almost  always  the  readiest 
to  spend  it? 

We  are  not  particularly  interested  in  the  construc 
tion  of  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  railroad;  but  we 
are  interested  in  one  of  the  young  men  who  for  a  time 
helped  to  lay  track.  This  young  man  is  rather  more 
intelligent  than  the  majority  of  his  fellow-workers,  is 

29 


30  A  MURDER  THREATENED 

about  five  feet  nine  inches  in  height  and  rather  slight 
and  weak-looking.  His  name  was  the  eighth  on  the 
pay-roll,  and  for  that  reason  he  was  familiarly  known 
among  his  fellows  as  No.  8.  So  we  shall  call  him  for 
the  present. 

Number  8  was  at  work  on  that  part  of  the  road 
which  extends  from  Salida  to  Pueblo,  over  which  the 
train  now  takes  the  traveler  in  three  hours.  This 
young  man  was  sober  and  reliable,  and  soon  gained 
the  confidence  of  the  boss.  At  first  he  assisted  in  the 
grading  of  the  road;  but  the  foreman  of  the  gang, 
whose  work  consisted  in  placing  the  rails  in  position, 
being  short  a  hand,  transferred  our  friend  tp  this 
pleasanter  and  more  lucrative  work.  He  could  readily 
learn  to  do  almost  any  kind  of  work  that  did  not 
require  extraordinary  mechanical  skill,  and  therefore 
soon  became  proficient  in  his  new  place. 

Cards  formed  the  chief  amusement  of  the  men  after 
their  day's  work  was  done.  There  seemed  nothing 
felse  to  do.  There  were  no  books  for  them,  and  if 
there  had  been,  few  would  have  been  inclined  to  use 
them.  Although  they  worked  only  ten  hours  per  day, 
their  work  was  hard,  and  they  were  usually  very  tired 
when  evening  came. 

We  may  say  what  we  please  with  regard  to  the 
establishment  of  reading  rooms  for  the  working  classes. 
They  are  a  necessity;  but  where  men  and  women  must 
labor  twelve  to  fifteen  hours  daily,  there  is  little 
inclination,  because  little  mental  vigor,  for  reading 
when  at  last  the  burden  of  the  day's  toil  is  laid  by. 


AND  A  PRECIPITATE  KIJGHT.          .  3» 

Every  healthy  human  being  ought  to  be  willing  to 
labor.  Working  eight  to  ten  hours  per  day  is  strength 
ening  to  body  and  mind  and  prolongs  life.  It  is  only 
when  the  hours  of  toil  are  unduly  prolonged  that  labor 
becomes  a  burden. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  men  were  usually 
tired  in  this  camp  when  the  day's  work  was  done, 
there  were  some  who  would  have  gladly  spent  a  few 
hours  in  reading,  had  the  opportunity  been  offered. 
There  being  nothing  to  read,  the  men  played  cards 
instead.  Sometimes  they  played  for  the  fun  of  it; 
more  frequently  they  played  for  the  drinks  or  for  each 
other's  hard-earned  wages. 

Number  8  had  been  asked  again  and  again  to  accom 
pany  his  chums  to  the  saloon,  until  not  to  do  so  any 
longer  seemed  to  make  him  the  object  of  abuse.  He 
finally  concluded  that  he  would  go  with  them  the  very 
next  time  they  would  ask  him.  That  time  soon  came, 
and  that  to  his  sorrow. 

One  Saturday  evening,  after  he  had  worked  more 
than  a  month,  he  was  persuaded  to  join  the  rest  of  the 
men  in  a  visit  to  Salida.  Number  8  knew  that  the 
proposed  visit  meant  cards  and  bad  whiskey.  He  had 
learned  to  play  cards  as  well  as  anybody  on  the  section. 
He  knew,  too,  what  bad  whiskey  could  do,  and 
because  he  knew  it  so  well,  he  had  left  it  alone.  The 
gang  knew  his  sentiments;  because  he  had  always 
,passed  the  bottle  untouched.  "  This  time,"  they  said 
among  themselves,  "  we  will  take  him  where  there  is 
enough  to  make  him  drunk,  and  drunk  he  shall  be." 


32  A  MURDER  THREATENED 

After  their  arrival  at  the  few  shanties  which  then 
composed  Salida,  they  had  entered  a  saloon  and  played 
for  the  drinks.  Number  8  cheerfully  paid  when  his 
side  lost,  but  he  would  barely  taste  his  glass.  There 
seemed  but  one  way  to  get  him  drunk,  and  that  was 
to  force  the  stuff  down  his  throat.  One  of  the  party, 
a  great,  stalwart  fellow,  seized  him  from  behind  and 
pinioned  his  arms,  whilst  another  pulled  back  his  head 
•and  tried  to  pour  some  of  the  vile  whiskey  down  his 
throat. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Number  8  had 
thrown  himself  from  the  box  upon  which  he  had  been 
sitting  and  had  upset  the  table  upon  which  the  cards 
had  been  dealt.  One  fellow,  who  had  tried  to  hold  his 
limbs,  had  been  kicked  and  sent  half  way  across  the 
room.  Meanwhile  Number  8's  coat,  vest,  and  shirt 
had  received  the  greater  part  of  the  contents  of  half  a 
bottle  of  whiskey.  Enough  had  gone  down  his,  throat 
to  almost  strangle  him  in  his  efforts  to  avoid  it.  His 
tormentors  relaxed  their  hold  for  a  moment.  Number 
8  sprang  to  his  feet  and  made  for  the  door.  Before  he 
could  reach  it,  six  revolvers  were  leveled  at  him;  and 
such  expressions  as,  "you  can't  go,  sonny,"  and  "not 
yet,  if  you  please,"  greeted  him.  Quick  as  thought 
Number  8  pointed  with  his  ringer  at  the  bar-keeper, 
and  of  course  everybody  looked.  At  the  same  time  he 
fired  into  the  crowd  and  ran  out  of  the  door.  The 
half  dozen  shots  that  were  fired  into  the  darkness  after 
him  did  no  more  harm  than  his  own  had  done. 


AND  A  PRECIPITATE  FLIGHT.  33 

The  reason  Number  8  had  drawn  his  revolver  was 
because  he  for  once  had  thoroughly  lost  his  head.  He 
was  angry  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word.  He  felt 
that  these  men  had  tried  to  take  away  his  liberty. 
He  felt  that  they  had  no  more  right  to  compel  him  to 
drink  than  they  had  to  take  his  money.  He  excused 
himself  for  shooting  on  the  ground  that  he  had  acted 
in  self-defense. 

When  he  returned  to  camp  that  night,  he  did  not 
go  to  the  shanty  where  he  was  in  the  habit  of  sleep 
ing,  with  some  of  the  very  men  who  had  abused  him 
most.  He  did,  however,  go  to  the  boss  of  the  section, 
who  himself  was  a  clever  man,  and  did  all  'in  his 
power  to  have  the  men  behave  decently  at  all  times. 
Number  8  told  him  frankly  what  had  occurred. 
"Young  man,"  said  the  boss,  "you  have  acted 
rashly  in  shooting,  but  we  will  see  what  we  can  do  for 
you  when  the  men  are  sober.  To-night  you  must  stay 
with  me." 

Number  8  was  only  too  glad  to  share  the  boss'  quar 
ters.  The  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  the  boss 
and  Number  8  went  to  the  shanty  where  the  men  were 
gathered.  They  scowled  at  the  new-comers,  but  said 
nothing.  The  boss  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
He  said,  "  Men,  I  understand  you  had  some  trouble 
down  at  the  saloon  last  night." 

One  man,  the  fellow  who  had  been  kicked,  said, 
"Yes,  that  coward  there  (alluding  to  Number  8) 
kicked  and  abused  some  of  us,  and  when  he  could  do 
nothing  else  but  fight,  he  drew  his  revolver  instead, 


34  A  MURDER  THREATENED 

and  shot.  We  would  have  killed  the  cow 
ard,"  he  added,  "  if  we  could  have  caught  him." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  boss,  "  I  do  not  ordi 
narily  interfere  in  the  quarrels  of  men,  but  I  do  say, 
that  because  you  wished  to  get  tlrunk  was  no  reason 
why  you  should  try  to  compel  anyone  else  to  do  as  you 
do.  Now  that  you  are  sober  you  will  admit  that  what  I 
say  is -true.  All  I  wish  you  to  do  is  to  let  by-gones  be 
by-gones.  This  young  man  says  he  has  nothing 
against  any  of  you.  Are  you  satisfied  to  go  on  in 
your  work  together,  or  shall  I  discharge  the  whole  of 
you  ?  I  can  telegraph  to  Denver  to-da^,  and  to-morrow 
have  all  the  men  I  need." 

"  No  necessity  for  doen  that,  boss,"  said  the  fellow 
who  had  been  kicked,  and  who  was  really  the  leader 
among  them.  "  I  guess  the  men  here  are  willens  to 
let  the  matter  drop  for  the  present,  since  that  coward 
asks  57ou  to  protect  him." 

"  Well,"  said  the  boss,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss 
this  matter  any  further.  If  you  will  allow  Number  8 
to  work  without  molesting  him,  all  right.  I  must  see 
that  he,  or  any  man  that  works  for  me,  has  justice 
done  him." 

So  the  matter  ended  that  da}'.  Number  8  went  to 
the  shanty;  but  his  companions  were  sullen  all  that 
day,  and  whenever  the  opportunity  offered  they  made 
sarcastic  remarks,  and  tried  to  wound  his  feelings. 
But  he  was  too  wise  to  be  drawn  into  a  quarrel.  He 
paid  as  little  attention  to  them  and  their  taunts  as  pos 
sible.  That  night  he  slept  in  his  old  place.  The  next 


AND  A  PRECIPITATE  FLIGHT.  35 

morning  he  went  to  his  work  as  usual.  So  did  the 
others.  It  happened  that  Number  8  worked  at  rivet 
ing  the  plates  which  hold  the  different  pieces  of  rail 
together,  and  was  consequently  separated  from  the 
rest. 

When  the  section-boss  came  around,  he  told  Num 
ber  8  that  he  had  just  overheard  the  rest  of  the  gang 
quietly  discussing  how  they  might  get  even  with  him. 
He  said,  "You  know  these  men.  You  had  better 
leave,  and  thus  avoid  serious  trouble." 

Inasmuch  as  this  was  the  first  day  after  pay,  there 
was  not  much  to  lose.  Early  the  next  morning  found 
Number  8  on  his  way  toward  Colorado  Springs.  It 
was  a  beautiful  morning.  The  snow-covered  cliffs 
sparkled  in  the  morning  sunlight  long  before  our  trav 
eler  felt  the  warmth  of  the  first  rays  in  the  valley. 
Pike's  Peak  looked  like  burnished  silver. 

"  Round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  were  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settled  on  his  head. ' ' 

Number  8  thought  he  would  go  to  Colorado  Springs 
and  from  thence  to  Chicago,  and,  if  possible,  get 
lighter  work  there.  Two  or  three  miles  from  camp  he 
met  the  construction  train.  On  this  he  rode  as  far  as 
Canon  City.  From  thence  he  hoped  to  follow  the  trail 
of  the  miners,  and  in  two  or  three  days  get  to  Colorado 
Springs.  He  preferred  this  to  going  direct  on  the 
train;  he  would  spend  some  time  in  the  mines  if 
opportunity  offered. 

He  walked  all  day.  Toward  evening  he  left  the 
trail  in  the  Canon  and  followed  an  indistinct  path  over 


36  A  MURDER  THREATENED 

one  of  the  foot-hills,  hoping  to  shorten  the  distance 
around  the  spur.  It  proved  farther  than  he  had  cal 
culated.  Just  as  the  sun  sank  to  his  burning  bed, 
Number  8,  from  the  summit  of  the  hill,  looked  over 
the  weary  miles  he  had  come.  Far  in  the  distance  he 
saw  the  smoke  arise  from  the  camp-fires  of  the  men  on 
the  road.  How  he  longed  for  a  piece  of  the  salt  pork 
and  slap-jacks  he  knew  were  preparing  over  those 
camp-fires!  He  turned  and  trudged  wearily  on.  He 
crossed  the  ridge  and  saw  rather  a  wide  canon  below 
him;  but  he  was  too  tired  to  enter  it  that  night.  He 
sank  wearily  beneath  the  boughs  of  a  big  pine.  He 
thought  of  his  home,  far  away,  and  scarcely  knew 
whether  to  blame  or  congratulate  himself  on  his  escape 
from  the  contractor's  men.  Would  he  on  the  morrow 
rise  from  his  lowly  bed?  The  prospect  was  not,  to 
say  the  least,  very  cheering.  Number  8  was  too  tired 
to  think  much.  Tired  nature  asserted  herself,  and 
her  sweet  restorer,  sleep,  stole  on  him  ere  he  was 
aware. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  CAMPING-PARTY  AND  SOME  STRANGE   DISCOVERIES. 

"  Earth  has  built  the  great  watch-towers  of  the  mountains, 
and  they  lift  their  heads  far  up  into  the  sky,  and  gaze  ever  up 
ward  and  around  to  see  if  the  Judge  of  the  world  comes  not. ' ' 

— Longfellow. 

In  the  course  of  the  events  of  this  narrative  the  time 
has  come  to  introduce  our  readers  to  a  party  of  camp 
ers  in  the  "  Golden  State."  The  camp  is  located  in 
the  mountains,  twenty  miles  from  the  city  of  Los 
Angeles.  It  is  July,  and  the  moon  is  at  her  full. 
The  crags  cast  long,  dark  shadows  into  the  cafions,  so 
that  they  look  like  openings  into  a  bottomless  pit. 
Far  off  to  the  west  there  is  a  broad  expanse  which 
glistens  like  silver.  It  is  where  the  rays  of  the  full- 
moon  are  reflected  from  the  waters  of  the  Pacific. 

Around  the  camp  all  is  serenity.  The  burros  are 
corralled,  and  four  of  the  campers  are  asleep  beneath 
the  white  folds  of  one  tent,  and  four  others,  the  ladies 
of  the  party,  are  in  another,  and  in  a  similar  state  of 
forgetfulness. 

Whilst  they  are  asleep,  let  us  quietly  introduce  the 
campers:  Three  of  the  ladies  are  from  New  York  City. 
Two  of  them  are  mere  girls.  Their  name  is  Dives. 
They  are  the  only  surviving  members  of  their  family. 
When  at  home  they  live  in  a  fine  house  on  Fifth 
Avenue.  They  have  a  good  income.  Weak  dungs 

37 


38  A  CAMPING  PARTY  AND 

have  driven  them  from  the  city,  first  to  Colorado,  and 
later  to  the  Pacific  Coast,  where  they  have  spent  the 
winter.  Charmed  with  the  climate,  they  have  tarried 
far  into  the  summer,  and 'with  their  medical  nurse, 
whom  they  have  brought  with  them  from  the  Metrop 
olis,  and  a  cousin,  they  have  left  the  city  for  a  week  in 
the  mountains.  The  men  are,  one  of  them,  a  lawyer, 
about  thirty-five  years  of  age;  his  name  is  James 
Sharp.  The  other  is  Mr.  Swivel,  who,  with  his  sister, 
whom  we  have  already  mentioned,  is  a  cousin  of  the 
Dives.  The  other  two  men  are  the  cook  and  the  mule 
teer  of  the  party.  The  former  is  a  red-haired,  greasy- 
faced  fellow,  very  fat,  but  a  very  good  cook.  The 
latter  is  a  young  man,  thin,  fair  and  not  too  strong- 
looking.  He  was  sent  by  the  owner  of  the  mules,  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  to  act  in  the  double  capacity 
of  guide  and  muleteer.  He  was  introduced  to  the 
party  four  days  ago  as  Felix. 

Only  one  person  in  the  party  is  at  all  impressed  with 
the  last  mentioned  men.  This  is  the  nurse  from  New 
York.  There  is  nothing  very  striking  in  either  their 
personal  appearance,  or  in  the  men  themselves.  A 
mere  circumstance,  so  she  persuades  herself, has  aroused 
her  interest  in  the  cook,  and  then  in  the  muleteer. 
Having  left  her  watch  in  the  tent  one  day,  she  had 
gone  out  alone  to  admire  the  scenery,  which  she  pro 
fessed  keenly  to  appreciate.  She  sat  for  some  time 
listlessly  looking  down  into  the  lovely  San  Gabriel 
Valley.  A  little  to  the  left  and  almost  beneath  the 
place  she  sat,  lay  the  town  of  Monrovia  with  its  cluster 


SOME  STRANGE  DISCOVERIES.  39 

.of  buildings  at  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  with  here 
and  there  a  white  or  brown  house  in  an  orange  grove, 
looking  like  a  piece  of  plaster  or  bronze  in  a  frame  of 
emerald  mosaics.  In  the  distance  a  low  cloud  indi 
cated  the  place  where  "  the  Angel  City"  of  Southern 
California  lay  encircled  by  a  veil  of  mist,  as  if  to  pro 
tect  her  from  the  rude  gaze  of  the  genii  of  the  moun 
tains.  For  miles  the  valley,  with  here  and  there  a 
Eucalyptus  grove,  reminded  the  beholder  of  Pope's 
lines, 

"  Waste  sandy  valleys,  once  perplexed  with  thorn, 
The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn; 
To  leafless  shrubs  the  flowery  palm  succeeds, 
And  od'rous  myrtle,  to  the  noisome  weeds." 

She  had  been  startled  in  her  revery  by  a  noise  among 
the  sage.  On  looking  up  she  had  seen  the  cook,  who 
came  to  call  her  to  the  tent  to  luncheon.  She  asked 
him  the  time  of  day.  Without  saying  anything  he 
drew  a  gold  hunting-case  watch  from  his  vest-pocket 
and  opened  it  before  her  face.  She  noticed  the  name 
"  Nieman  "  on  the  lid.  The  lady  asked  no  questions 
about  the  watch;  but  the  name  Nieman  was  on  it, 
that' was  sure.  What  impressed  her  more  than  the 
name,  were  three  nicks  made  deeply  into  the  ring  of 
the  upper  lid.  She  had  often  seen  the  same  or  similar 
nicks  on  her  father's  watch.  He  had  told  her  he  put 
a  new  nick  in  the  case  every  time  a  new  baby  came  to 
their  home.  The  second  nick  was  there  for  her.  How 
did  the  cook  get  this  watch  ?  she  asked  herself  again 
and  again. 


40  A  CAMPING  PARTY  AND 

After  luncheon  that  day  she  walked  out  to  the  side 
of  the  tent,  and  there  saw  a  large  pocket-knife,  stick 
ing,  back  upward,  in  a  tree,  with  the  muleteer's  coat 
hanging  upon  it.  For  some  reason  she  stepped  up  to 
the  tree,  and  saw  on  the  bone  handle  of  the  knife  the 
initials,  N.  N.,  It  now  seemed  to  her  that  fate,  or 
something,  had  first  shown  her  the  watch,  so  as  to 
deepen  the  impression  of  thus  unexpectedly  showing 
her  her  brother's  knife.  She  stood  a  few  moments, 
gazing  at  the  knife,  when  the  muleteer  came  and 
pulled  it  out  of  the  tree  and  put  it  into  his  pocket.  As 
the  muleteer  walked  away,  she  felt  the  resemblance  of 
this  man  to  her  brother  Nicholas  very  forcibly. 

By  this  time  my  reader  is  convinced  that  the  nurse 
of  the  New  York  girls  is  none  other  than  Octavia 
Newman,  Mrs.  Nieman's  "L,iza."  Perhaps  he  is 
also  asking  himself  whether  the  muleteer  is  not  L,iza's 
brother.  The  reader's  conviction  with  regard  to 
Odlavia  is  correct,  but  she  herself  is  far  from  sure  that 
the  muleteer  is  her  brother.  It  is  true,  she  knew  that 
his  funeral  had  been  held  in  Freeport,  years  before; 
but  her  mother  had  never  persuaded  herself  to  think 
that  he  was  really  dead.  She  herself  had  worn  mourn 
ing  to  tell  her  neighbors  that  she  sorrowed  for  her 
dead  brother,  a  fact  which  they  otherwise  would  not 
have  known.  Her  brother  when  he  died  was  much 
fairer  than  this  man;  but  perhaps  this  man  was  only 
tanned.  Her  brother's  hair  was  light,  the  muleteer's 
was  yellowish;  but  his  nose,  mouth,  and  color  of  the 
eyes  certainly  were  very  much  like  Nick  Nieman's. 


SOME  STRANGE  DISCOVERIES.  41 

She  had  once  mentioned  to  the  Dives  the  fact  that 
her  brother  Nicholas  had  been  driven  from  home  by 
his  grandfather.  She  did  not  know  of  any  great 
wrong  that  her  brother  had  done;  but  she  mentioned 
it  at  a  time  when  she  was  dilating  on  the  extensive 
wealth  of  her  grandfather,  and  the  position  she  held 
in  his  affections  Her  grandfather  would  in  all  proba 
bility  give  her  the  greater  part  of  his  wealth.  Then 
she  would  build  a  hospital  of  her  own,  and  admit  only 
the  refined  and  intelligent.  The  Dives  had  then 
shown  more  interest  in  the  brother  that  was 
driven  from  home  than  in  her  grandfather's  great 
wealth,  or  Miss  Octavia's  plans.  They  asked 
her  so  many  questions  about  her  brother's  going 
away,  how  it  affected  his  poor  mother,  (and  what  be 
came  of  her  brother  afterward,  and  whether  her  grand 
father  did  not  feel  remorseful  when  he  learned  that 
Nicholas  was  killed, )  that  she  detailed  so  much  of  her 
family  life,  that  she  felt  her  face  redden  with  needless 
shame,  and  she  now  recalled  how  angry  she  had  been 
at  herself  because  of  the  unfortunate  turn  she  per 
mitted  her  conversation  to  take.  She  remembered, 
too,  how  she  had  resolved  then  and  there 
that  she  would  never  even  intimate  that  she 
had  the  slightest  suspicion  that  her  brother  was  still 
alive.  In  fact  up  to  this  time  she  had  not  given  her 
self  much  concern  as  to  whether  he  was  alive  or  not. 
Now  she  resolved  that  she  would  not  even  intimate  to 
the  Dives  or  to  anybody  that  she  had  the  slightest -sus 
picion  that  Felix  the  muleteer,  was  her  brother,  come 


42  A  CAMPING  PARTY  AND 

to  life,  or  that  he  had  not  been  killed  at  all.  She 
admitted  that  Felix  was  by  no  means  bad  look 
ing.  She  could  have  seen,  too,  had  she  been  able  to 
look  farther  than  her  nose,  that  the  young  man  was 
brave  and  possessed  of  character;  but  Octavia  on  this 
occasion,  as  she  had  often  done  before,  allowed  noth 
ing  to  come  between  her  and  her  false  pride.  Octavia, 
therefore,  said  nothing  of  her  suspicions,  and  treated 
Felix  with  the  same  condescension  after  she  had  seen 
the  knife  as  before.  Why  should  not  anybody  else 
than  her  brother  have  a  knife  with  "  N.  N." 
engraved  upon  it?  Beside,  everybody  thought 
her  brother  dead.  Her  mother's  wish  that  her 
son  might  be  living  had  been  father  to  the  thought 
that  he  really  was  alive.  It  is  true,  a  separ 
ation  of  five  years  in  a  growing  boy,  might  even 
cause  his  relatives  not  to  recognize  him.  Pshaw!  She 
would  not  bother  her  head  about  it.  Whether  Felix 
was  her  brother  or  not,  he  was  a  muleteer,  and  that 
was  enough  for  Miss  Octavia  Newman,  M.  D. 

That  same  afternoon  the  party  broke  up  camp  and 
started  for  L/os  Angeles.  Octavia  rode  on  a  burro  be 
lieved  to  be  the  tamest,  because  the  oldest,  in  the  out 
fit.  It  so  happened  that  he  for  a  time  lagged  far  in 
the  rear;  but  of  a  sudden  he  seemed  possessed  of  all 
the  perversity  and  animation  of  the  days  of  his  youth. 
He  crowded  by  the  others  where  the  trail  was  narrow 
est.  He  whisked  his  tail  in  the  air,  and  kicked  until 
poor  Octavia  begged  Felix  to  stop  him.  The  attempt 
nearly  cost  him  his  life.  Planting  himself  at  the  out- 


SOME  STRANGE  DISCOVERIES.  43 

side  of  the  trail,  he  grabbed  the  bridle.  He  succeeded 
in  turning  the  mule,  but  he  himself  went  over  the 
side  of  the  trail  where  it  was  steepest,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  strength  of  the  bridle  and  the  mule's 
backing  propensities  Felix  would  have  had  a  fatal  fall. 
When  the  mule  stopped,  Oclavia  went  on.  In  her 
fall  she  scratched  her  face  in  the  sage,  and  bruised  her 
knees,  and  tore  her  gloves  which  saved  her  delicate 
palms. 

There  were  several  things  that  were  firmly  impressed 
upon  the  minds  of  the  Dives  girls  during  this  trip. 
One  of  these  was  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery.  They, 
no  less  than  Octavia,  feasted  their  eyes  on  the  magnif 
icent  view  that  stretched  before  them  during  the  few 
days  that  they  sojourned  in  cloud-land.  Another 
thing  which  impressed  them  as  much  as  the 
scenery,  was  that  they  had  never  enjoyed  such  ap 
petites  in  all  their  lives  before,  as  they  enjoyed  during 
their  encampment.  What  was  more,  ' '  good  diges 
tion  had  waited  on  their  appetites,  and  health  on 
both."  They  knew  that  exercise  and  atmosphere  con 
tributed  to  these  results,  but  they  also  attributed  not 
a  little  to  the  skill  of  the  cook. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  Byron's  lines, 

"  Heaven  sends  us  good  meats,  but  the  devil  sends  us  cooks," 

the  Dives  were  convinced  that  this  cook  under 
stood  his  art.  He  was  not  at  all  a  fine  specimen 
of  humanity.  His  stomach  was  unduly  extended  by 
constant  tasting  and  feasting  on  the  viands  he  himself 


44  A  CAMPING  PARTY  AND 

prepared,  so  that  it  would  have  been  a  convenience  to 
carry  It  in  a  sling,  or  better  still,  to  let  some  one  else 
carry  it  on  his  back  after  its  possessor,  had  that  been 
possible;  his  face  was  round  as  a  full-moon;  his  eyes 
were  little,  deep-set  and  cunning;  his  hair  was  red  as 
glowing  coals.  When  his  face  remained  unshaven 
for  a  week  it  looked  like  a  pudding  sticking  full  of  the 
beards  of  red  wheat.  His  manners  were  excessively 
polite.  His  character — well,  we  do  not  know  him 
sufficiently  to  say  much  of  his  character.  Character 
cannot  be  read  at  a  glance.  It  requires  study,  associ 
ation,  to  tell  a  man's  character,  especially  if  he  tries  to 
dissemble. 

But  the  Dives  thought  they  could  tolerate  even  so 
homely  a  man  as  this  cook,  if  they  could  enjoy  the 
results  of  his  art.  Of  course  they  lost  the  edge  to 
their  appetites  when  they  got  to  New  York,  although 
they  had  this  same  cook.  We  have  thus  far  simply 
called  him  the  cook,  without  giving  him  a  name. 
The  girls  asked  him  his  name,  and  he  gave  them  a 
name  wherewith  they  should  call  him;  but  in  all  prob 
ability  it  was  only  assumed,  so  we  will  continue  to 
know  him  as  "  the  cook."  There  is  not  much  in  a 
name,  anyhow,  until  it  stands  for  character,  or  the 
lack  of  it. 

The  Dives  girls  themselves  asked  this  cook  on  the 
way  home  from  the  encampment  to  call  at  their  place 
of  sojourn  in  L,os  Angeles.  He  came  the  same  even 
ing  of  their  arrival  in  the  city.  When  the  elder  of 
the  girls  told  him  why  he  had  been  asked  to  call,  it 


SOME  STRANGE  DISCOVERIES.  45 

did  not  require  much  skill  to  read  the  feeling  of  satis 
faction  which  made  itself  manifest  in  the  fat  face  and 
twinkling  eyes.  This  satisfaction  was  increased  when 
an  offer  of  such  wages  as  the  fat  man  had  not  received 
for  many  days  was  made  him.  Of  course  he  tried  to 
conceal  his  pleasure.  He  said,  he  did  not  know 
whether  he  really  wished  to  return  to  New  York.  He 
had  been  there  years  ago,  but  he  had  found  the  win 
ters  excessively  cold  and  the  summers  fearfully  hot, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  all  New  York  kitchens  close 
and  stuffy,  but  the  change  even  to  a  worse  climate 
might  do  him  good.  So  the  fat  cook  accepted  the 
proposition  of  the  New  Yorkers,  and  the  girls  them 
selves,  had  they  just  then  been  endowed  with  the  power 
to  see  spirits,  would  have  seen  their  guardian  angel 
tremble.  Perhaps  if  they  would  have  known  what 
Octavia  thought  she  knew  about  the  watch  this  same 
fat  cook  carried,  they  would  have  had  him  arrested  on 
suspicion  of  having  been  the  murderer  of  Octavia's 
father;  but  to  convict  him  would  have  been  quite 
another  matter.  The  watch  alone  would  not  have 
been  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  cook  had  stolen  it 
from  Mr.  Nieman,  or  anybody,  much  less  that  he  had 
killed  the  aforesaid  gentleman.  Odtavia  herself  soon 
stopped  thinking  about  the  watch,  for  a  time,  at  least. 
The  Dives  had  now  finished  their  visit  to  the 
' '  Golden  State  ' '  and  within  about  a  week  afterward 
they  were  ready  to  return  to  their  home.  Of  course 
Miss  Newman  was  to  return  with  them.  Octavia 
scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  pleased  or  otherwise 


46  A  CAMPING  PARTY. 

when  she  heard  that  the  cook,  who  had  given  such 
satisfaction  on  the  camping  trip,  would  accompany 
them  to  New  York,  there  to  be  installed  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  Dives.  What  surprised  her  still  more 
was  the  fact  that  Mr.  Sharp  was  now  on  his  way  to 
hire  Felix  to  become  the  coachman  for  the  Dives. 
The  cook  had  suggested  it,  saying  that  he  knew  Felix 
wished  to  go  farther  east,  and  that  as  a  coachman  he 
was  "A,  i."  The  Dives  themselves  saw  enough  of 
Felix  to  believe  that  he  would  make  them  a  good 
coachman. 

The  fact  that  these  two  men  were  to  go  with  them 
to  New  York  seemed  like  a  cruel  fate  sent  to  haunt 
and  torment  Octavia.  Had  it  not  been  for  a  letter 
which  Octavia  at  about  this  time  received,  and  which 
threw  her  into  a  fever  of  happy  anticipations,  she 
would  have  felt  the  workings  of  the  seemingly  cruel 
fate  all  the  more  keenly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   FORTUNE;  BUT   HOW  TO   GET   IT? 

' '  Pride  ( of  all  others  the  most  dangerous  fault ) 
Proceeds  from  want  of  sense  or  want  of  thought. ' ' 

— Dillon. 

The  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  camping-party  and 
several  days  before  the  Dives  were  to  start  for  New 
York,  Octavia  received  a  letter  from  the  hospital  on 
Black  wells  Island.  On  breaking  the  seal  she  found 
another  sealed  envelope  inside,  addressed  to  "  Miss 
Liza  Nieman."  As  she  listlessly  broke  the  second 
seal,  she  wondered  how  anybody  at  the  hospital  could 
know  that  she  was  L,iza  Nieman.  She  had  never  told 
anyone.  This  flitted  through  her  mind  as  she  broke 
the  seal;  but  imagine  her  surprise  when  she  read: — 

"OMAHA,  NEB.,/WW^ — ,  188 — . 
Miss  LIZA  NIEMAN, 

I  beg  leave  to  inform  you  that  by 

the  death  of  Peter  True,  formerly  of ,  Pa. ,   you 

have  come  heir  to  a  large  cattle  ranch,  twenty-five 
miles  from  this  city,  together  with  a  two-story  house, 
etc. ,  in  this  city.  The  estimated  value  of  this  prop 
erty  is  $25,000. 

Please  prove  yourself  the  Miss  L,iza  Nieman  in 
tended  by  the  will,  and  relieve  your  servant,  the 
administrator, 

JOHN  BAER,  ESQ."  - 

47 


48  A  FORTUNE; 

So  soon  as  Octavia  read  this  letter  she  knew  who 
Peter  True  was,  although  she  had  not  heard  from  him 
for  years.  She  promptly  burst  into  tears.  Had  any 
one  seen  her  weep,  he  would  have  been  convinced 
that  there  was  no  real  grief  in  the  spinster's  tears. 

Peter  True  and  Eliza  had  known  each  other  in 
their  childhood.  He  had  lived  on  a  farm  joining  the 
village.  His  parents  had  died  when  he  was  quiet 
young,  and  there  being  no  relative  to  care  for  him,  a 
Mr.  True  had  adopted  him  and  given  him  his  own 
name.  All  this  occurred  before  Peter  was  able  to  real 
ize  that  Mr.  True  was  not  his  father,  and  Mrs.  True 
not  his  mother.  From  his  earliest  recollection  the 
Trues  had  treated  him  as  if  he  were  their  own  child, 
and  so  Peter  never  grieved  when  he  was  told  by  the 
neighbors  that  he  was  an  adopted  child.  Octavia,  or 
rather  Liza,  as  little  Peter  knew  her,  had  always  when 
she  was  displeased  with  him,  promptly  reminded  him 
that  he  was  only  a  "  'dopted  child." 

As  she  grew  older  the  spirit  within  her  began  to 
assert  itself.  She  began  to  lord  it  over  Peter  com 
pletely,  so  that  he  scarcely  dared  to  call  his  soul  his 
own  in  her  presence.  Of  course  he  could  no  longer 
play  with  her  the  live-long  day,  as  he  had  done  in  his 
early  childhood;  but,  whenever  they  met,  she  showed 
her  regal  spirit,  and  in  all  her  conduct  toward  him 
tried  to  impress  him  with  her  superiority.  She  fre 
quently  told  him  of  the  books  she  was  reading,  and 
times  without  number  informed  him  that  it  would  not 


BUT  HOW  TO  GET  IT  ?  49 

be  long  before  she  would  leave  him  for  good.  In  the 
end  Peter  left  the  village  before  she  was  ready  to  go. 

Peter's  childish  love  for  Liza  did  not  die  as  he  grew 
into  manhood.  One  debt  he  owed  to  this  same  love 
for  the  proud  girl.  It  had  inspired  him  to  do  some 
thing  in  the  world;  to  be  somebody.  With  him  this 
resolution  was  guided  by  good  common  sense,  which 
he  showed  on  all  occasions  of  his  short  life,  except 
when  he  insisted  on  loving  this  same  haughty  girl. 

When  he  was  eighteen  years  old,  Mr.  True  gave 
him  permission  to  go  or  to  remain  in  the  home  that 
had  so  long  sheltered  him.  He  had  at  once  asked 
Odtavia's  advice,  and  she  had  promptly  told  him  to  go 
away.  He  thought  over  the  matter  for  some  time 
after  she  had  given  him  her  advice,  and  finally  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  west.  When  he  told  her  his  decis 
ion  she  grasped  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  showed 
more  affection  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 

A  few  weeks  after  this  Peter  True  was  ready  to 
start.  Of  course  he  came  to  say  good-by  to  Odlavia, 
as  he  had  for  the  last  few  years  been  in  the  habit  of 
calling  Eliza,  because  she  insisted  on  it,  and  because 
he  knew  it  pleased  her.  We  cannot  dwell  upon  the 
way  the  girl  spurned  his  heart  as  he  laid  it  at  her 
feet  in  the  ardor  of  his  love.  The  utmost  she  would 
promise  him  was  that  she  would  answer  his  letters. 
This  promise  she  kept  for  a  little  while,  but  soon 
she  broke  it.  Meanwhile  Peter  True  was  finding 
friends  and  lucrative  employment.  It  was  not  long 
until  he  had  a  quarter  section  of  land,  and  was  farm- 


5O  A  FORTUNE; 

ing  it  and  pasturing  cattle  on  other  acres  adjacent. 
Soon  he  bought  more.  He  then  grew  rich  rapidly. 
He  still  hoped  to  make  the  proud  girl  now  in  the  city, 
his  own;  but  death,  like  an  untimely  frost,  had  come 
and  blasted  all  the  tenderest  hopes  of  life.  He  died  of 
a  fever  just  two  weeks  after  he  had  made  his  will,  and 
four  weeks  before  Octavia  received  the  letter  to  which 
we  have  already  alluded,  and  which  was  destined  to 
affect  her  life  so  seriously. 

She  distinctly  remembered  how  poor  Peter,  the 
night  he  had  begged  her,  with  quivering  lip,  to  become 
his  wife,  had  given  her  the  unsolicited  promise  that  he 
would  never  forget  her  to  his  dying  day,  and  that  if 
he  ever  got  rich  in  "  the  West,"  she  would  hear  from 
him.  Octavia  had  thought  Peter  True  too  dumb  and 
too  Dutch  to  have  a  place  in  her  heart.  She  had 
turned  from  him  in  disdain,  scarcely  flattered  by  his 
attentions.  It  must  be  remarked,  that  truer  heart 
never  beat  than  this  same  Peter  True's;  honester  soul 
never  crossed  the  ' '  Father  of  Waters ' '  than  he. 

Octavia  never  thought  of  this.  What  engrossed  her 
was  the  question  how  to  prove  that  she,  the  refined, 
the  learned  Octavia  Newman  was  the  one  intended  by 
the  will.  Her  friends,  the  Dives,  must  not  know  it; 
even  though  their  medical  adviser,  who  always  felt 
herself  patronized  by  the  Dives,  was  now  an  heiress. 
Could  Mr.  Sharp,  whom  Octavia  thought  exceedingly 
clever,  not  help  her  ?  Should  she  interview  the  mule 
teer  and  find  out  whether  he  was  her  brother  Nick, 
and  then  take  him  with  her,  to  identify  her  ?  Hor- 


BUT  HOW  TO  GET  IT  ?  51 

rors!  No!  The  Dives  dare  not  know,  and  Mr.  Sharp 
dare  not  know,  that  she  for  a  moment  thought  Felix 
her  brother .  Wh  y  not  telegraph  to  Lee  Nieman ,  M .  D . , 
asking  him  to  meet  her  at  Omaha,  on  important  bus 
iness?  The  plain,  blunt,  country  doctor  had,  the  last 
time  he  saw  her,  said:  "  Octavia,  pride  is  the  never- 
failing  vice  of  fools.  Beware  of  it,  or  it  will  make  you 
a  laughing-stock  with  all  sensible  people."  She  had 
cut  him  then  and  there.  For  seven  years  she  had  not 
written  to  him.  The  more  she  thought  the  more  she 
realized  that  she  could  not  prove  her  identity  by  the 
people  she  had  met  since  she  had  entered  the  hospital. 

She  had  not  even  registered  as  "  Eliza  Nieman, , 

Pa."  She  had  given  her  address  as  Reading,  Pa. 

All  the  next  day  when  she  and  the  Dives  were  get 
ting  ready  to  start  on  the  return  journey,  Octavia's 
pride  and  love  of  wealth  fought  long  and  hard  in  her 
soul.  She  felt  that  her  brother,  the  doctor,  would 
help  her  if  she  would  ask  him.  He  could  take  with 
him,  she  knew,  the  testimony  of  a  thousand  persons  as 
to  his  standing  in  the  community.  But  why  not  pun 
ish  her  brother  by  getting  her  fortune  herself,  and 
then  when  she  was  richer  than  he,  write  him  a  patron 
izing  letter,  asking  him  to  come  and  visit  her  in  her 
chateau  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  ?  What  a  con 
quest  that  would  be!  The  thought  delighted  her. 

Could  she  not  show  the  letter  to  Mr.  Sharp,  the 
attorney,  and  tell  him  that  Peter  True  had  nicknamed 
her  Liza  Nieman.  The  name  in  the  will,  she  would 
tell  him,  was  simply  to  remind  her  of  the  good  times 


52  A  FORTUNE; 

they  used  to  have  together.  She  would  adopt  this 
plan  and  Mr.  sharp  would  see  that  she  received  her 
money. 

Soon  the  day  for  the  journey  arrived,  but  strange  to 
say  she  had  not  yet  consulted  Mr.  Sharp.  An  invisi 
ble  power  seemed  to  hold  her  back.  The  party  con 
sisted  of  Odlavia  Newman,  the  fat  cook,  and  what  was 
a  surprise  to  all,  Mr.  Sharp,  and  of  course,  the  Dives. 
They  took  the  ' '  No.  2  Daily  ' '  over  the  Santa  Fe, 
en  route  for  New  York.  At  Pasadena  they  were 
joined  by  Felix,  the  muleteer.  Felix  had  been  only 
too  glad  to  quit  his  old  job,  which  had  meant  so  much 
hard  work  and  such  little  pay. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  ladies  and  Sharp  traveled 
in  a  palace  car,  and  that  Felix  and  the  cook  did  not. 
If  moral  worth  would  have  determined  the  accommo 
dation,  the  party  would  have  been  differently  divided. 
The  mighty  dollar  gives  standing  and  artificial  value. 
Sometimes  the  silver-plating  comes  off  this  artificiality 
in  the  fridlion  with  other  lives.  Then  we  are  willing 
to  acknowledge  the  fraud;  but  not  so  long  as  any  of 
the  plating  remains,  will  we  confess  that  we  have  been 
deceived.  We  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  because  a 
man  can  afford  to  travel  in  a  palace  car,  he  is  there-' 
fore  a  rascal;  but  we  do  say  that  this  age  forgets,  that 
"  Wealth  is  a  weak  anchor,  and  that  glory  cannot 
support  a  man;  this  is  the  law  of  God,  that  virtue  only 
is  firm,  and  cannot  be  shaken  by  a  tempest." 

She  did  not  see  Felix  after  he  boarded  the  train, 
until  they  arrived  at  Barstow,  where  they  had  dinner. 


BUT  HOW  TO  GET  IT  ?  53 

She  had  not  seen  him  at  the  table.  He  had  probably 
eaten  at  the  lunch-counter,  which,  in  its  way,  gives  a 
man  with  little  money  an  excuse  for  thinking  that  he 
has  eaten  something.  The  coffee  and  dough-nuts  of 
the  lunch-counter  do  the  rest,  so  that  after  such  a  meal 
or  two  the  traveler  can  scarcely  excuse  himself  for 
having  eaten  at .  all.  Whatever  may  be  said  with 
regard  to  the  lunch-counter,  we  must  admit  that  even 
it  is  far  in  advance  of  what  those  enjoyed  who  crossed 
the  plains  in  the  "  prairie-schooner." 

It  would  be  useless  to  note  every  detail  in  this 
journey  of  Miss  Newman  and  her  friends.  We  might 
speak  of  a  railroad  wreck,  but  there  was  none;  of  a 
hold-up,  in  which  the  engineer  was  compelled  to  detach 
the  express  car,  and  in  which  the  express  messenger 
was  wounded  in  his  fidelity  to  defend  the  company's 
property;  but  whilst  it  may  seem  almost  incredible  to 
you,  kind  reader,  there  really  was  no  ' '  hold-up ' '  on 
this  trip. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   NARROW   ESCAPE. 

"  Chance  will  not  do  the  work,  —chance  sends  the  breeze; 
But  if  the  pilot  slumber  at  the  helm, 
The  very  wind  that  wafts  us  toward  the  port 
May  dash  us  on  the  shelves.     The  steersman's  part 
Is  vigilance,  blow  it  rough  or  smooth." — Scott. 

The  sun  was  high  next  morning  when  Number 
8  awoke.  He  felt  very  hungry  and  stiff;  but  he  arose, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  about  him.  There  was 
not  much  to  see.  He  went  forward  some  distance  and 
mounted  a  rock.  From  this  eminence  he  had  a  good 
view  of  the  valley  he  was  entering.  He  could  at  first 
see  no  signs  of  life  in  the  valley.  He  saw  in  the  dis 
tance  a  hut,  and  on  looking  closer,  he  spied  a  horse 
feeding  not  far  from  the  hut. 

Having  eaten  his  last  bite  the  previous  noon  he  was 
very  hungry  and  weak;  but  the  hope  of  getting  some 
thing  to  eat  urged  him  forward.  When  he  reached 
the  cabin  he  found  everything  closed.  The  door  was 
locked,  but  near  by  he  found  an  ax  which  together 
with  a  few  sticks  of  wood,  were  the  only  evidence  that 
somebody  expected  to  return.  He  did  not  wait  for 
that  somebody  to  return,  but  took  the  ax  and  knocked 
in  the  door.  On  entering  and  opening  the  rude  closet 
he  found  two  loaves  of  bread  and  a  can  of  something 
which  he  did  not  take  time  to  examine. 

54 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE:  55 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  number  8  was  a  thief, 
but  not  from  choice.  Byron  has  well  said  : 

' '  Man  is  a  carnivorous  production 

And  must  have  meals,  at  least  one  meal  a  day; 
He  cannot  live  like  wood-cocks  upon  sudlion, 
But  like  the  shark  and  tiger,  must  have  prey." 

Number  8  greedily  devoured  a  loaf  of  bread  before 
he  quit  the  cabin.  After  he  was  a  mile  away  and  saw 
no  one,  he  thought  of  his  stolen  can,  expecting  to  find 
fruit  of  some  kind;  but  imagine  his  surprise  when  he 
read  "  Royal  Baking  Powder,"  in  large  letters  on  the 
box.  He  threw  the  box  into  the  grass  in  disgust. 

As  he  went  on  toward  the  trail  he  had  left  the  day 
previous,  he  became  convinced  that  a  drove  of  cattle 
had  recently  been  pastured  in  the  canon,  which  here 
was  a  mile  in  width  and  several  miles  in  length.  The 
hut  which  he  had  visited  an  hour  before  belonged  to 
the  herders,  and  not  to  miners,  as  he  had  supposed. 

For  a  time  number  8  had  forgotten  about  the  horse, 
but  a  neigh  attracted  his  attention.  Looking  up  he 
saw  the  animal  approaching.  Number  eight  made  up 
his  mind  to  have  a  ride  on  the  horse  at  least  as  far  as  the 
trail.  A  rope  around  the  animal's  neck  trailed  behind 
him.  Number  8  soon  caught  the  horse,  and  making 
a  bridle  out  of  the  rope,  mounted  him,  and  not  long 
afterward  he  was  riding  toward  the  trail  he  had  left 
the  previous  day.  He  rode  several  miles  toward  the 
creek  along  which  the  main  path  lay.  Having  arrived 
at  the  creek  he  drank  again  and  again.  Then  he  tied 
the  rope  around  a  limb,  and  having  fastened  the  horse, 


56  A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

he  sat  down  in  the  shade  to  rest  and  think.  He  had 
not  rested  long  before  the  horse  showed  signs  of  un 
easiness,  and  almost  immediately  afterward  he  felt 
strong  arms  clutch  him  around  the  elbows,  and  saw  a 
face  at  the  side  of  his  own.  At  the  same  time  he 
heard  someone  say,  "  Ah,  my  brave  cavalier,  you  are 
caught  at  last.  Where  did  you  purchase  your  horse  ? 
Where  are  the  other  gentlemen  ?  ' '  These  and  other 
questions  were  asked  Number  8  as  one  of  two  men 
rapidly  bound  him.  He  was  then  placed  on  the  horse 
he  had  found  near  the  shanty.  The  rope  rein  was 
fastened  to  the  saddle  of  one  of  the  two  horses  upon 
which  his  captors  had  come,  and  which  they  had  left 
at  a  little  distance.  They  then  started  for  the  cabin 
which  Number  8  had  left  a  few  hours  berfore. 

As  soon  as  Number  8  recovered  from  his  surprise 
he  tried  to  explain;  but  the  spokesman  of  the  party 
only  laughed,  and  said  he  never  knew  a  horse  thief 
who  could  in  so  short  a  time  manufacture  so  good  a 
story.  The  fellow  who  did  the  hugging  whilst  Num 
ber  8's  hands  were  being  tied  was  a  big,  dark-faced 
man  with  straight,  black  hair  and  a  vicious  looking 
mustache.  He  said  nothing  to  Number  8,  and  very 
little  to  his  companion  and  that  in  a  tongue  unknown 
to  our  friend. 

When  the  party  reached  the  cabin  and  found  the 
door  broken,  the  spokesman  fairly  jumped  from  the 
ground  with  wrath.  He  vowed  he  would  hang  and 
then  shoot  the  wretch,  if  ever  in  his  life  he  would  be 
able  to  find  him.  After  the  spokes-man  came  out  of 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  57 

the  cabin  and  found  that  two  loaves  of  bread 
and  a  can  of  baking-powder  were  the  only  things  miss 
ing,  he  became  more  calm.  Unfortunately,  he  had 
found  a  handkerchief  in  the  cabin  which  bore  the  in 
itials,  "  N.  N."  He  closely  and  suspiciously  looked 
at  Number  8  when  he  came  out  of  the  cabin.  An  idea 
seemed  to  strike  him.  He  pulled  Number  8's  coat 
off,  but  found  no  name.  The  figure  8  was  all  he 
found  on  the  front  of  his  shirt.  He  next  examined 
Number  S '  s  cap  and  found  the  initials  N.  N .  "  Well , ' ' 
said  he,  "  you  are  a  bold  thief.  You  steal  or  help  to 
steal  a  dozen  horses  one  night.  You  ride  back  the 
next  day  and  plunder  the  cabin  where  you  stole  the 
horses  and  then  rest  at  the  creek  not  a  mile  away.  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  hang  you  before  the  boys  come 
back  just  for  the  satisfaction  of  doing  it  myself." 

Number  8  was  now  unceremoniously  pulled  off  his 
horse,  and  his  pistol  and  knife  taken  from  him,  and  he 
himself  told  to  keep  quiet.  One  man  sat  near  him 
with  his  revolver  in  his  hand,  whilst  the  other  lead 
the  horses  away.  In  a  few  hours  half  a  dozen  more 
men  came,  reporting  that  they  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
missing  horses,  nor  of  those  who  had  stolen  them.  Our 
spokesman  said,  "  The  cook  and  I  have  been  more  suc 
cessful."  He  then  briefly  narrated  the  events  of  the 
afternoon,  when  they  all  joined  in  a  derisive  laugh. 

The  cook  who  had  been  relieved  from  his  watching 
by  Number  8's  side,  had  gotten  supper.  The  whole 
party  supped  on  fried  bacon  and  hoe-cake,  the  c0ok 
explaining  that  because  there  was  no  baking-powder, 


58  A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

there  could  be  no  biscuit.     Poor  Number  8  was  offered 
some  bacon,  but  his  appetite  had  deserted  him. 

After  supper  Number  8  was  again  interviewed  as  to 
the  way  he  had  taken  the  horse  found  in  his  possession, 
and  why  he  had  entered  the  cabin.  But  however 
much  he  tried  to  make  the  matter  plain,  he  was  simply 
jeered.  The  whole  party  agreed  to  hang  him  both 
because  of  what  he  had,  and  of  what  he  had  not  con 
fessed.  They  were  divided  as  to  the  time  when  the 
sentence  should  be  executed.  Some  thought  that  it 
ought  to  be  done  that  night,  others  that  they  ought  to 
wait  until  next  morning.  The  facl  that  the  party  was 
very  tired  more  than  anything  else,  delayed  the 
hanging. 

Number  8  was  now  securely  bound,  hands  and  feet. 
A  thin  rope  was  passed  around  his  waist  and  then 
around  the  waist  of  the  man  who  was  to  remain  with 
him  during  the  night.  This  man  and  Number  8  re 
mained  outside  on  some  hay;  the  rest  of  the  party 
slept  in  the  cabin. 

Soon  everybody  except  Number  8  slept.  All  sleep 
had  deserted  him.  He  thought  of  his  childhood-home, 
of  his  friends'  tear-stained  faces  as  he  saw  them  on  the 
day  he  left  home.  He  thought  of  the  opportunities 
he  had  neglected,  and  of  the  death  which  awaited  him. 
No  wonder  that  he  prayed.  Nearly  everybody  prays 
when  death  stares  him  in  the  face.  Death  imminent, 
is  a  wonderful  cure  for  skepticism.  Number  S  felt 
certain  that  his  death  was  only  a  question  of  a  few 
hours.  In  all  probability,  when  the  sun  would  again 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  59 

illuminate  the  eastern  skies  he  would  make  the  change 
which  never  changes. 

Number  8's  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  slight 
noise  near  him.  Almost  immediately  after  the  noise, 
the  moon  which  had  been  shrouded  in  a  bank  of  clouds, 
burst  forth  in  all  her  effulgence.  Its  light  revealed  a 
woman  stealthily  aproaching.  He  thought  she  might 
be  a  spectre  from  the  little  noise  and  the  quickness  of 
her  movements.  She  put  her  fingers  to  her  lips  when 
she  was  near  him,  as  a  token  of  silence.  Drawing  a 
long  knife  from  the  folds  of  her  dress,  she  cut  the 
cords  which  bound  his  hands  and  feet,  and  which  at 
tached  him  to  the  waist  of  his  sleeping  guard.  Num 
ber  8  arose  without  being  told  to  do  so.  With  a  nod 
of  her  head  she  beckoned  him  to  follow  her,  and  then 
she  walked  rapidly  away.  Poor  Number  8  crept  pain 
fully  after  her,  scarcely  able  to  conceal  both  his  pain 
and  his  pleasure  at  being  free. 

After  they  had  walked  several  hundred  yards  they 
suddenly  came  upon  three  ponies,  in  the  care  of  a 
negro  boy,  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  slight, 
girlish  form,  of  medium  height,  which  had  thus  far 
silently  led  our  friend,  now  found  a  voice.  She  said, 
'"  Mount  this  mustang.  Do  not  try  to  guide  your 
steed,  but  urge  him.  After  riding  awhile,  you  will 
come  to  a  stone  house.  Dismount  there  and  go  along 
the  road  which  leads  in  the  direction  of  that  star 
(pointing  to  Venus,  which  had  just  risen  over  the  top 
of  the  mountain  in  front  of  them)  and  by  and  by.you 
will  come  to  the  railroad.  If  you  hurry  you  will  be  in 


60  A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

time  for  the  freight  which  passes  the  crossing  of  the 
road  at  about  4:30  A.  M.  Take  the  train  and  get  out 
of  this.  If  those  fellows  catch  you  again  they  may 
hang  you  before  anybody  can  interfere." 

Poor  Number  8  wanted  to  fall  on  his  knees  in 
thanks  to  his  deliverer;  but  she  told  him  there  was  no 
time  for  it.  She  urged  him  to  go.  She  did  not  even 
give  her  name.  Our  friend  then  mounted,  and  the 
mustang  started  at  a  lively  pace.  In  about  half  an 
hour  he  came  to  a  commodious  stone  house.  Here  he 
dismounted  as  directed,  and  started  on  foot.  As  he 
kept  on  his  way  he  could  not  help  wondering  how  it 
happened  that  this  woman  should  have  come  to  rescue 
him.  Why  was  she  out  at  this  time  of  the  night  ? 
Who  could  she  be  ?  It  was  evident  to  him  that  she 
lived  in  the  house  to  which  the  mustang  had  brought 
him;  but  why  did  not  she  and  the  colored  youth 
accompany  him  ? 

After  Number  8  realized  that  no  one  was  following 
him,  he  also  became  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
very  tired;  but  he  kept  up  a  brisk  walk,  which  he 
occasionally  quickened  into  a  run.  When  he  had  thus 
hurried  along  for  fully  an  hour,  he  heard  the  quick, 
short,  but  distant  shriek  of  an  engine.  He  now  ran 
at  the  top  of  his  speed,  and  some  minutes  before  the 
train  came  up  to  the  crossing  of  the  road,  Number  8 
was  already  there.  He  drew  out  his  watch  and  saw 
that  it  lacked  five  minutes  to  4:30  A.  M.  As  the  train 
drew  up,  it  stopped  at  the  tank  to  take  water,  and  as 
Number  8  knew  enough  of  how  men  went  about  steal- 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  6 1 

ing  a  ride  on  a  freight,  he  was  soon  quietly  nestled  in 
an  empty  box  car. 

When  the  sun  had  risen,  the  train  arrived  at  Color 
ado  Springs.  He  now  resolved  to  go  on  to  Denver. 
His  breakfast  at  Colorado  Springs  was  enjoyed  as  he 
had  enjoyed  few  in  his  life.  It  so  happened  that  a 
large  shipment  of  cattle  was  being  made  from  that 
place  that  day,  and  a  man  being  needed,  Number  8 
was  duly  installed  as  king  over  cattle,  if  not  as  a  cattle 
king.  It  did  not  matter  to  him  that  he  was  going  to 
Chicago,  instead  of  remaining  at  Denver,  so  long  as  he 
was  going  beyond  the  reach  of  ' '  Judge  Lynch  ' '  and 
his  jury,  which  had  so  recently  condemned  him, 
though  innocent,  to  such  an  ignominious  death. 

Much  has  been  said  with  regard  to  the  necessity  of 
summarily  dealing  out  death  to  criminals  in  the  newer 
countries  of  our  great  land.  What  may  have  been 
said  of  the  justice  of  the  process  years  ago,  when  these 
countries  in  the  west  were  isolated  and  a  law  unto 
themselves,  the  time  when  such  a  process  can  be 
defended  in  any  section,  has  passed.  Often  the  guilty 
parties  helped  to  punish  the  innocent.  Oftener  still 
the  guilty  were  miles  away  when  the  innocent  suffered. 
Then,  too,  the  punishment  was  usually  out  of  all  pro 
portion  to  the  crime.  For  instance,  the  punishment 
for  horse  stealing  was  always  death,  whilst  frequently 
the  man  who  killed  his  fellow  for  a  supposed  insult, 
was  looked  upon  as  a  hero  instead  of  a  murderer,  as 
he  really  was.  With  all  this  we  admit  that  in  the 
early  days  of  frontier  life,  ' '  Judge  Lynch  ' '  and  his 


62  A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

jury  often  did  valuable  service,  and  inspired  a  whole 
some  respecl  and  awe  in  the  worst  criminals. 

It  would  be  useless  to  follow  every  detail  of  Num 
ber  8's  movements  and  duties  in  this  journey  to  Chi 
cago.  Let  us  add  that,  to  make  the  journey  in  charge 
of  several  cattle  cars  is  not  near  as  easy  or  as  safe  as 
in  a  first-class  Pullman.  As  he  had  never  ridden  in 
the  latter  way,  he  did  not  appreciate  the  difference. 
In  addition  to  stirring  the  cattle  when  they  became 
restless,  Number  8  had  time  for  thought.  For  more 
than  one  reason,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
must  return  to  the  stone  house  at  which  a  few  days 
before  he  had  so  hastily  dismounted.  He  must  learn 
more  about  the  inmates  of  that  home,  and  particularly 
about  the  young  woman  who  had  almost  miraculously 
saved  his  life.  He  also  made  up  his  mind  that  when 
he  did  return,  he  would  remain  away  from  the  shanty 
in  the  valley. 

Exactly  two  weeks  after  Number  8  had  left  Color 
ado  Springs,  he  was  there  again.  His  journey  to 
Chicago  had  cost  him  nothing.  It  had  netted  him 
something,  so  that  instead  of  having  less  bills  sewed 
up  between  the  lining  of  his  coat,  which  was  his  bank, 
he  had  more.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  security 
of  Number  8's  bank,  so  far  neither  its  cashier  or  pres 
ident  had  gone  away  and  taken  the  funds  from  him, 
because  he  was  both  president  and  cashier,  as 
well  as  board  of  directors.  This  kind  of  banking 
would  soon  paralyze  the  commerce  of  the  world,  but 
for  a  time  it  did  first  rate  in  Number  8's  case.  Once 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  63 

whilst  at  Chicago,  he  came  near  losing  bank,  capital 
and  all.  He  had  hung  his  coat  on  a  post  at  the  stock 
yard,  whilst  warm  and  busy,  meaning  to  keep  an  eye 
upon  it;  but  when  he  looked  for  it,  it  was  gone.  His 
heart  sank  within  him  when  he  thought  of  the  $500.00 
in  bills,  his  all  in  the  world,  and  the  proceeds  of  seven 
years'  saving.  Fortunately  the  tramp  who  stole  it  did 
not  get  away  with  it.  Number  8  saw  him  less  than 
an  hour  afterwards  lying  in  the  shadow  of  some  cars, 
with  the  coat  on  his  back.  In  true  western  style, 
Number  8  drew  his  revolver  and  made  the  tramp  take 
it  off.  Had  the  tramp  known  the  true  value  of  his 
booty,  he  would  not  have  lingered,  but  would  have 
put  Number  8's  money  into  circulation. 

Before  Number  8  left  Colorado  Springs  he  was 
cleanly  shaven  and  well  dressed.  When  the  train  left 
him  that  afternoon  at  the  little  station  near  the  water- 
tank,  no  one  would  have  recognized  him  as  Number  8. 
It  was  easy  for  him  to  find  the  road  toward  the  stone 
house;  but  he  realized  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
landing  there  in  the  evening  instead  of  the  morning. 
Where  would  he  spend  the  night,  or  get  something  to 
eat  ?  Certainly  not  at  the  shanty  in  the  valley.  Of  all 
these  things  he  first  seriously  thought  as  he  trudged 
along  the  road  which  was  to  take  him  to  the  stone 
house. 

Whilst  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his  meditation,  and 
beginning  to  be  convinced  that  he  had  come  on  a 
fool's  errand,  he  heard  the  rapid  approach  of  a  wagon. 
Turning  around  he  had  barely  time  to  see  that  a  pair 


64  A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

of  mustangs  were  violently  galloping  in  front  of  a 
spring- wagon,  upon  which  sat  a  young  girl  holding 
one  line  in  her  hand,  whilst  the  other  was  whirling 
on  the  ground.  In  an  instant  he  took  in  the  situation, 
and  placed  himself  between  the  narrow  mountain 
road  and  the  opposite  steep  slope  of  the  hill.  Behind 
him  the  bank  terminated  in  a  sheer  precipice  a  hun 
dred  feet  or  more  high.  L,ess  than  a  hundred  feet 
ahead  of  him  the  road  made  a  sudden  turn  around  the 
shoulder  of  the  mountain.  The  team  must  be  stopped 
before  it  reaches  this  point,  or  destruction  of  horses 
and  driver  will  be  sure.  With  a  loud  "whoa!"  he 
has  made  a  clutch  at  the  bridle,  but  he  can  not  stop 
the  run-a-way  so  easily.  The  fair  driver  now,  with 
great  presence  of  mind,  pulls  with  all  her  might  on 
the  line  still  remaining  in  her  hand,  whilst  Number  8 
is  dragged  along,  almost  a  dead  weight  on  the  bridle. 
The  trailing  line  unfortunately  wraps  around  his  limbs, 
and  he  falls.  The  wheel  passes  over  the  back  of  his 
head,  but  the  line,  securely  wrapped  around  him,  has 
stopped  the  team.  The  girl,  now  carefully  holding 
her  line  firmly  stretched,  dismounts  on  the  side  on 
which  her  rescuer  lies.  The  blood  is  flowing  freely 
from  his  mouth  and  nose.  All  this  the  girl  notices  in 
an  instant.  She  ties  her  team  securely  to  a  pine  by 
the  roadside.  Then  she  takes  Number  8's  hat  and 
brings  it  full  of  water  from  the  stream  nearly  directly 
beneath  the  place  where  her  rescuer  fell.  When  she 
returns  with  the  water  he  still  lies  in  a  dead  faint. 
After  she  has  washed  the  blood  from  his  face  he 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE.  65 

begins  to  breathe,  but  does  not  open  his  eyes.  What 
is  she  to  do  ?  To  lift  him  into  the  wagon  is  impos 
sible  for  her  alone.  She  cannot  let  him  lie  there 
and  go  three  miles  for  help,  nor  can  she  be  sure  that 
some  one  will  come  that  way  that  night.  In  the 
midst  of  her  dilemma  she  fortunately  hears  the 
approach  of  a  horseman.  When  he  comes  around  the 
bend  in  the  road,  she  is  rejoiced  to  see  that  it  is  one  of 
her  father's  cowboys.  Soon  they  have  number  8  in 
the  wagon,  and  the  cow-boy,  hitching  his  own  horse 
to  the  rear  of  the  wagon,  takes  the  lines.  The  young 
lady  supporting  the  head  of  Number  8  sits  on  the 
floor  of  the  wagon,  and  thus  they  reach  her  home. 


CHAPTER  VII ." 

CONVALESCENT. 

"Youth,  hope,  and  love  : 
To  build  a  new  life  on  a  ruined  life, 
To  make  the  future  fairer  than  the  past, 
And  to  make  the  past  a  troubled  dream." 

— Longfellow. 

For  three  long  weeks  Number  8  lay  in  the  stone 
house  in  front  of  which  he  had  dismounted  the  night 
he  escaped  death.  The  day  after  the  accident  a  doc 
tor  had  been  summoned  from  Colorado  Springs.  He 
made  two  visits  without  giving  much  hope  for  Number 
8's  recovery.  When  he  called  the  third  time,  he 
found  him  in  a  raging  fever.  The  doctor  told  the 
nurse  that  when  the  fever  ceased  the  sufferer  would 
either  show  signs  of  dissolution  or  he  would  recover. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  doctor's  predictions; 
but  when  the  cow-boy  who  had  helped  to  load  Number 
8  on  the  day  of  the  accident,  and  who,  together  with 
the  young  lady  whose  life  Number  8  had  probably 
saved,  was  nursing  him,  inquired  which  of  the  doctor's 
predictions  was  likely  to  come  true,  he  had  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  said  something  about  membrane 
and  nervous  ganglia,  which  the  cow-boy  did  not  under 
stand. 

66 


CONVALESCENT.  67 

On  his  first  visit  Dr.  Burns  had  not  met  Carrie 
Dives,  for  such  was  the  girl's  name.  The  second 
time  she  too  had  managed  to  see  him,  and  had  anx 
iously  asked  him  about  Number  8's  condition.  After 
that  interview  with  Carrie,  the  doctor  came  every 
other  day,  explaining  that  the  critical  point  in  Number 
8's  case  had  come.  He  must  attend  the  unknown 
young  man,  whether  he  could  pay  him  or  not.  At 
each  visit  the  doctor  managed  to  see  Carrie  and  to 
explain  the  case  in  detail  to  her. 

The  doctor  scarcely  knew  why  he  made  it  a  point  to 
see-Carrie  every  time  he  came  to  see  the  patient.  When 
she  was  not  in  the  room  he  would  say  to  Jim,  the  cow 
boy,  ' '  Now  if  you  will  call  the  young  lady  I  will  give 
her  my  directions  before  I  leave."  On  several  occas 
ions  the  nurse  had  told  the  doctor  that  inasmuch  as 
he  would  be  right  in  the  room  until  the  doctor  would 
come  again,  he  would  carry  out  any  directions 
he  might  wish  to  give.  But  no  matter  what  Jim 
said,  the  doctor  always  found  an  excuse  to  see  Carrie. 
Nor  was  this  all,  he  would  during  Number  8's  fever, 
make  an  excuse  for  prolonging  his  calls  by  saying  he 
was  trying  a  different  medicine  on  the  patient  and  must 
see  how  it  acts.  Then  he  would  miss  the  morning 
train.  This  wrould  give  him  an  excuse  to  remain  until 
late  in  the  afternoon.  Sometimes  the  doctor's  patients 
in  the  city  suffered  because  he  stayed  so  long  in  the 
country.  It  must  be  confessed  that  this  frequent  and 
close  attention  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Burns  saved  Number 
8's  life. 


68  CONVALESCENT. 

One  day  the  doctor  said  to  Carrie,  "  Miss  Dives,  I 
think  you  are  paying  rather  dearly  for  your  rescue. 
It  must  be  a  great  trial  to  have  one  as  sick  as  that 
young  man,  to  think  about  and  to  look  after." 

' '  But  doctor,  do  you  not  know  that  the  great  his 
torian  has  said,  'gratitude  is  expensive  ?'  Besides,  I  do 
not  know  but  that  if  that  young  man  had  not  risked 
his  life  I  should  have  been  sick  much  longer  than  he. 
If  he  will  ever  get  so  far  as  to  speak  coherently;  I  shall 
be  more  than  paid  for  my  anxiety."  This  had  been 
said  so  sincerely  by  the  young  girl,  that  the  doctor 
almost  wished  he  were  in  the  fever-ridden,  unconscious 
and  unknown  young  man's  place.  He  had  once  asked 
Carrie  whether  she  had  ever  seen  the  young  man 
before  he  caught  her  run-away  team.  Truth  to  Carrie 
had  always  been  a  virtue  so  highly  prized  that,  so  far, 
she  had  never  sacrificed  it  at  any  price.  Nervously 
glancing  at  the  doctor,  then  at  Sambo,  who  stood  by, 
and  who  she  feared  might  know  as  much  about  the 
identity  of  their  patient  as  she  herself,  she  replied  that 
she  felt  almost  certain  that  at  one  time  she  had  seen 
this  same  young  man  on  the  ranch.  She  might  be 
mistaken,  but  she  felt  almost  sure  that  she  had  seen 
him.  She  did  not  know  where  he  was  going  or 
whence  he  had  come  the  day  of  the  accident. 

Whenever  the  doctor  thought  of  the  noble  self-sac 
rifice  of  the  young  man,  hovering  between  life  and 
death  in  the  stone  house,  he  would  ask  himself 
whether  he  would  have  been  noble  and  brave  enough 
to  have  done  as  this  young  man  had  done.  He  would 


CONVALESCENT.  69 

reply  to  his  own  question,  by-saying,  a  man  will  do  a 
great  deal  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  especially  for  so 
sweet  a  girl  as  Carrie  Dives.  But  the  man  did  not 
know  Carrie,  had  not  even  time  to  see  her  face,  before 
he  lay  almost  lifeless  beneath  the  wagon.  Oh  well,  if 
this  young  man  had  risked  his  life,  it  was  characteris 
tic  of  fools  to  "  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread." 

He  was  impressed  with  the  fadl  that  this  young 
man's  strength  held  out  well.  It  was  a  proof  that  he 
had  not  led  a  life  of  dissipation.  Only  a  good  consti 
tution  could  bear  such  a  strain.  Would  the  change 
never  come?  Would  not  the  weakness,  which  was 
sure  to  be  terrible,  not  be  beyond  all  that  medical  skill 
could  do  to  aid  nature  ? 

At  last  Number  8's  fever  left  him.  The  first  con 
scious  sentence  he  spoke  was  to  ask  whether  the  young 
lady  was  safe.  This  greatly  pleased  Carrie,  and  caused 
the  big  tears  to  trickle  down  her  cheeks.  Carrie  Dives 
was  a  pretty  girl,  of  medium  height.  She  was  a  bru 
nette.  Her  hair  was  black.  Her  plump  cheeks 
always  had  a  delicate  little  blush  nestled  amid  the 
brown.  Her  eyes  were  not  black  nor  brown,  as  one 
would  expect  from  her  complexion,  but  blue  as  the 
fields  of  space  far  above  the  mountain  peaks  of  her 
Colorado  home,  and  bright  as  the  stars  which  gemmed 
those  fields  at  night.  Her  whole  soul  seemed  to  crowd 
into  her  eyes  in  order  to  study  and  learn  the  world 
around  her.  They  seemed  to  look  straight  into  every 
soul  they  met.  No  wonder  that  the  girl  insisted  that 
Number  8  should  be  placed  into  her  own  room,  where 


70  CONVALESCENT. 

the  morning  sunlight  kissed  the  walls  and  floors.  No 
wonder  Dr.  Burns,  after  meeting  Carrie,  felt  that 
Number  8  needed  a  visit  every  other  day. 

When  Number  8  had  sufficiently  convalesced  to  sit 
on  the  veranda,  he  knew  that  Carrie  Dives  was  the 
identical  girl  who  had  revoked  the  sentence  of  death 
passed  upon  him  by  the  cow-boys.  He  wondered 
whether  she  knew  it.  One  day  he  said  to  her:  "  Did 
you,  several  months  ago,  late  at  night,  help  a  man  to 
escape  from  the  clutches  of  some  herders  not  far  from 
here?" 

The  girl  said:  "  I  did,  and  you  are  the  man.  I 
remembered  the  color  of  your  hair,  and  that  hand  with 
the  little  finger  gone." 

Number  8  asked:  "  How  in  the  world  did  you  get 
there  at  that  hour  and  just  when  I  needed  you?  " 

She  replied:  "You  need  not  tell  me  how  you  got 
there.  Sambo  and  I  were  out  hunting  flowers.  I 
watched  you  from  the  glen  wdth  my  glass.  I  saw  you 
steal  that  bread,  and  afterward  throw  away  the  baking 
powder.  I  knew  you  were  hungry,  and  I  pitied  you. 
When  you  met  Jim's  horse  (Jim  is  the  cow-boy  to 
whom  we  are  already  introduced  as  nurse  of  Number 
8)  I  did  not  blame  you,  for  I  knew  you  were  very 
tired.  When  you  lay  down  at  the  creek  I  knew  you 
did  not  mean  to  steal  the  horse.  I  had  ridden  only 
a  few  hundred  yards  away  from  you  into  the  brush, 
when  Pete  and  the  Spaniard  so  rudely  roused  you. 
You  must  not  blame  them  for  deciding  to  hang  you. 
They  had  that  very  morning  reported  six  of  the  very 


CONVALESCENT.  71 

best  horses  stolen,  among  them  Jim's  '  old  reliable.' 
I  knew  you  were  not  one  of  the  thieves.  Sambo  and 
I  did  not  go  home  that  evening  until  I  could  see  that 
they  did  not  intend  to  hurt  you.  When  I  came  home 
I  told  papa  what  I  had  seen  and  heard,  and  told  him 
he  must  let  me  rescue  you.  He  gave  his  consent,  but 
insisted  on  going  along  and  remaining  close  enough 
to  help  me  in  case  I  needed  him.  You  know  the 
rest." 

"  Well,"  said  Number  8,  "  you  are  a  heroine.  You 
saved  my  life." 

"  And  you  mine,"  she  replied,  "only  it  cost  you 
more  to  do  it,  so  we  are  not  quite  even.  If  you  need 
a  job,  my  father  says  he  can  give  you  one.  He 
needs  true,  brave  men. " 

During  the  remaining  few  weeks  of  Number  8's 
convalescence,  Carrie  and  he  became  better  acquainted. 
One  day  she  said:  "  Father,  I  know  what  that  young 
man  can  do.  He  can  take  the  place  of  your  drunken 
and  thieving  old  book-keeper.  He  writes  a  good 
hand,  and  he  says  he  understands  single  and  double 
entry.  He  needs  out-door  exercise,  and  with  you  he 
can  have  it;  because  book-keeping  with  you  involves 
outdoor  life."  (Number  8  had  studied  book-keeping 
in  a  night  school  in  Chicago  a  few  years  before,  and  he 
now  felt  glad  that  he  had.) 

At  the  last  visit  Dr.  Burns  had  strongly  advised 
Number  8  to  leave,  because  in  his  weakened  condition 
the  air  was  too  rare  at  that  high  altitude.  Number  8 
knew  why  the  advice  was  given,  and  did  not  follow  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SAD  MEMORIES  AND  BLESSED  COMFORTS. 

' '  There  is  none, 

In  all  this  cold  and  hollow  world,  no  fount 
Of  deep,  strong,  deathless  love,  save  that  within 

A  mother's  heart." — Mrs.  Plenums. 

Eight  years  have  passed  since  Nick  Nieman  left  his 
grand- father's  home  in  the  "Keystone  State."  Six 
years  ago  his  mother  attended  his  supposed  funeral, 
and  returned  to  her  home  with  the  lines  of  care  a  little 
deeper,  and  her  heart  heavier  than  when  she  went  in 
quest  of  her  boy.  Mrs.  Nieman  had  not  forgotten  her 
boy,  although  as  time  wore  on  she  felt  more  and  more 
that  she  had  been  to  his  funeral.  Washington  Irving 
has  well  said:  "The  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only 
sorrow  from  which  we  refuse  to  be  divorced.  Every 
other  wound  we  seek  to  heal,  every  other  affliction  to 
forget;  but  this  wound  we  consider  it  a  duty  to  keep 
open,  this  affliction  we  cherish  and  brood  over  in  soli 
tude."  As  time  passes,  it  brings  solace  even  to  the 
heart  that  sorrows  for  the  dead.  Comfort  had  come 
to  Mrs.  Nieman 's  heart  through  the  blessed  family- 
life  into  which  she  had  entered.  L,ee  Nieman,  the 
village  doctor,  had  married  the  intelligent  and  warm 
hearted  daughter  of  a  farmer,  and  had  long  since 
taken  his  mother  to  his  own  home.  Mrs.  Nieman  had 
72 


BLESSED  COMFORTS.  73 

found  in  Tree's  wife  more  than  she  had  ever  lost  in  her 
own  daughter,  Liza.  This  new  daughter  having  lost 
her  own  mother  in  early  childhood,  knew  very  little  of 
a  mother's  love  before  she  met  Mrs.  Niernan,  in  Lee's 
home.  She  therefore  loved  Mrs.  Nieman  tenderly. 
Nothing  was  too  good  for  "  Mother  Nieman,"  as  Lee's 
wife  fondly  called  her.  The,  sunniest  bed-room,  the 
cosiest  corner  by  the  fire  in  winter,  the  coolest  bower 
in  summer,  the  best  of  everything  in  the  Nieman 
home  was  always  reserved  for  "  Mother  Nieman." 

What  made  this  life  more  blessed  to  the  elder  Mrs. 
Nieman  was  the  fact  that  she  was  permitted  to  spend 
her  declining  years  in  the  very  home  in  which  she  had 
given  birth  to  all  of  her  children,  and  where,  during 
the  first  five  years  of  her  married  life,  she  had  had  a 
veritable  Eden. 

It  is  true,  the  latter  part  of  her  married  life  had 
brought  her  much  sorrow.  She  recalled  very  vividly 
how  the  doctor  in  this  home  had  gradually  but  surely 
become  the  slave  of  his  habit.  She  remembered  how 
his  face  had  become  more  drawn  and  his  eyes  more 
bloodshot,  as  he  came  out  of  one  debauch  only  to  enter 
helplessly  and  hopelessly  into  a  deeper  one.  She 
remembered  how  at  such  times  he  would  be  harsh, 
even  cruel  to  her,  when  she  tried  to  warn  him  against 
his  fate.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  had  been  a  kindness  to 
him,  that  Providence,  in  so  mysterious  and  unexpected 
a  way,  had  permitted  him  to  be  taken  away  out  of  the 
power  of  temptation.  One  blessed  comfort  she  had, 
and  that  was  that  the  doctor,  a  few  weeks  before  he 


74  SAD  MEMORIES 

died,  had  made  one  more  effort  to  reform,  and  had 
asked  her  to  do  all  in  her  power  to  help  him. 

No  sorrow  that  Mrs.  Nieman  knew  or  had  known, 
was  keener  in  her  heart  than  the  one  caused  by  the 
consciousness  of  the  fact  that  her  own  daughter  was 
too  proud  to  love  her.  What  though  her  tongue  were 
too  heavy  to  lisp  and  mince  as  her  daughter  had 
learned  to  do!  What  though  her  hands  were  not  as 
soft,  and  her  fingers  as  long  and  tapering  as  her 
daughter's!  Had  not  those  hands  supported  her 
child  ?  Had  not  those  fingers  made  many  weary 
stitches  when  others  slept,  in  order  that  her  little  girl 
might  look  as  neat  and  sweet  as  any  ?  When  little 
Bliza  had  been  sick,  had  she  not  watched  with  her  in 
earnest  solicitude  ?  It  made  her  heart  bleed  to  think 
that  in  all  these  years  since  her  daughter  had  left  her 
home,  she  had  heard  from  her  only  twice.  Once  when 
she  graduated,  she  had  sent  an  invitation  and  program 
after  the  exercises  were  over,  lest  she,  the  mother,  and 
her  son,  the  doctor,  should  come. 

As  she  nursed  the  little  girl  which  had  come  to 
Lee's  home,  the  thought  of  her  own  daughter's  ingrat 
itude  would  come  to  her  again  and  again.  When  she 
looked  at  the  little  face  sweetly  nestled  on  her  bosom, 
she  wondered  whether  that  child-heart  could  ever  be 
come  so  hard  and  cold.  Then  she  would  pray  to  die 
ere  it  would  come  to  pass.  "No  wonder,"  said  she 
when  speaking  to  Lee's  wife  on  the  subject,  "that 
God  has  said,  '  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother  that 
thy  days  may  be  long  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy 


AND  BLESSED  COMFORTS.  75 

God  giveth  thee.'  "  Mrs.  Nieman  had  in  Lee  a  con 
tinual  comfort  and  solace.  When  his  professional 
calls  were  over  he  would  join  her  and  his  wife  and  dis 
cuss  the  work  and  the  little  plans  for  their  comfort 
and  happiness.  When  the  weakness  resulting  from 
the  weight  of  years,  began  to  manifest  itself  in  his 
mother,  the  tender  solicitude,  more  than  the  medicine 
prescribed,  helped  her  to  regain  health  and  vigor. 
Often  the  hard,  drawn  face  would  relax  in  smiles,  and 
tears  would  course  down  the  cheeks  after  one  of  the 
tender  embraces  of  her  son. 

Lee  Nieman  was  a  born  physican.  When  he  was  a 
child  he  loved  to  play  doctor  with  his  companions. 
When  he  became  a  teacher  in  the  public  school,  he 
had  a  remedy  for  every  sickness  that  manifested  itself 
among  his  pupils,  so  that  the  mothers  of  the  children 
consulted  him  more  frequently  than  their  family  phy 
sicians.  It  was  therefore  natural  for  him  to  study 
medicine  and  become  a  physician  at  his  earliest  oppor 
tunity.  Though  he  was  contented  to  live  in  his 
paternal  village,  his  reputation  had  extended  beyond 
his  home.  Often  he  stood  in  counsel  with  the  ablest 
physicians  of  neighboring  cities. 

Of  course  the  doctor  prospered.  The  paternal  home 
was  his  own.  The  farm  adjacent  had  been  purchased 
and  paid  for  several  years  before.  His  bank  account 
was  always  on  the  sunny  side;  yet  Lee  Nieman  for  the 
last  few  years,  had  given  in  charity  more  than  he  saved. 
A  mortgage  of  several  hundred  dollars  resting  on  the 
home  of  a  poor  widow,  had  been  lifted  with  his  money » 


76  SAD  MEMORIES 

and  the  fact  made  known  to  no  one  save  the  widow 
and  the   Nieman  family. 

Once  the  world  called  him  a  hero.  There  was  a 
fire.  The  flames  were  licking  up  the  home  of  a  neigh 
bor,  and  strongest  men  were  afraid  to  enter  the  build 
ing  in  order  to  rescue  the  invalid  father.  When  L,ee  Nie 
man  arrived  and  realized  that  there  was  a  man  in  the 
burning  building  he  had  pushed  aside  the  crowd,  and 
had  run  up  the  burning  stairs.  He  had  lowered  the 
invalid  by  means  of  a  rope,  but  before  he  could  de 
scend  by  the  same  rope,  he  had  burned  his  hands 
severely,  and  singed  his  hair.  He  had  not  inhaled  the 
flames.  Thus  it  was  that  in  a  few  days  he  was  able  to 
attend  to  his  business  as  before.  That  was  not  the 
only  time  Lee  Nieman  was  a  hero.  He  had  been  de 
clared  the  hero  again  and  again  by  Him  whose  judg 
ment  never  erreth,  when  he  had  stood  by  the  bed-side 
of  those  afflicted  with  contagious  diseases,  and  when 
he  knew  they  had  no  reward  to  give  him.  Where 
duty  called,  Dr.  Nieman  always  went  by  night  and 
by  day,  in  sunshine  and  in  storm.  No  wonder  his 
mother's  eyes  brightened  whenever  he  appeared;  no 
wonder  his  wife  loved  him  with  all  the  tenderness  and 
strength  of  a  true  woman's  heart.  Yes,  Lee  Nieman 
was  happy.  We  do  not  mean  that  he  had  no  cares, 
no  worries. 

"  In  every  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  be  dark  and  dreary, ' ' 

and  so  doctor  Nieman 's  life  had  its  dark  days;  but  he 


AND  BLESSED  COMFORTS.  77 

was  happy   as   the  lot  of  a  mortal  freest  from  care,  is 
happy. 

One  day  just  before  Odlavia  Nieman  had  received  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Baer,  the  administrator  of  the  True 
estate,  Lee  Nieman  had  also  gotten  a  letter  from  the 
same  man,  in  which  the  administrator  inquired  as  to 
the  whereabout  of  Miss  Eliza  Nieman.  In  this  letter 
he  told  the  doctor  that  a  fortune  was  awaiting  his  sis 
ter.  L,ee  had  frankly  told  him  of  his  sister's  fondness 
of  being  called  ' '  Odlavia  Newman  ' '  instead  of  by 
her  real  name.  He  assured  Mr.  Baer  that  he  would 
be  able  to  prove  that  what  he  said  was  the  exact 
truth.  When  on  writing  to  Miss  Nieman,  he  would 
receive  a  reply  from  one  signing  herself,  "Miss  Oc- 
tavia  Newman,  M.  D.,  "  he  was  to  feel  assured  that 
he  was  writing  to  the  person  intended  by  the  will. 
He  also  told  him  that  by  writing  to  New  York  city, 
in  care  of  the  hospital  on  Blackwells  Island,  he  would 
reach  her  soonest.  Then  Lee  also  wrote  to  the  hos 
pital,  instructing  them  there  to  forward  any  letter  ad 
dressed  to  Miss  Eliza  Nieman,  to  Miss  Octavia.  The 
real  truth  is  therefore,  that  doctor  Nieman  knew  of 
his  sister's  good  fortune,  some  weeks  before  she  her 
self  found  it  out.  Furthermore,  he  had  already  pre 
pared  the  way  for  her  to  receive  it  when  she  was  de 
bating  whether  to  take  him  into  her  confidence  or  not. 
Lee  had  told  his  own  mother  all  about  it,  but  no  one 
else.  "  I  fear,"  he  had  said  to  his  mother,  "  sister's 
fortune  will  do  her  but  little  good.  As  the  clown 
shakes  his  head  to  hear  his  bells  jingle  and  attract  at- 


7»  SAD  MEMORIES 

tention  only  to  be  laughed  at,  so  a  few  added  guineas 
will  cause  sister's  head  to  toss  still  more.  I  fear  it 
will  make  her  lose  her  balance." 

Lee  Nieman  might  liave  offered  his  sister  his  ser 
vices,  but  he  thought  it  best  not  to  interfere.  He 
knew  his  sister  would  measure  him  by  her  own  short 
and  warped  little  rule,  and  not  only  not  give  him 
credit  for  noble  and  unselfish  motives,  but  would  ac 
tually  be  suspicious  of  him.  Suspicion  always  haunts 
the  guilty.  He  knew  how  selfish  and  proud  she  was, 
so  he  left  her  to  her  own  resources. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

' '  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP. ' ' 

"  Oh  heaven,  that  such  companions  thou'ldst  unfold 
And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip, 
To  lash  the  rascals  naked  through  the  world 
Even  from  east  to  west." — Shakespeare. 

The  day  after  Mr.  Sharp  left  Los  Angeles  two  of 
the  daily  papers  contained  the  following  notice:  "  Dis 
solved  Partnership. — The  Law  and  Real  Estate  firm 
of  Sharp  and  Ketchem  has  dissolved  partnership.  All 
persons  indebted  to  the  firm  will  hereafter  make  pay 
ments  to  Mr.  W.  W.  Ketchem,  Number  S. 

Broadway." 

Messrs  Sharp  and  Ketchem  had  done  a  thriving 
business  for  several  years  as  real  estate  agents.  Dur 
ing  the  boom  they  had  made  money  by  investing  the 
ipital  of  eastern  purchasers,  and  then -after  the  boom 
the  law  firm  had  made  big  money  in  foreclosing 
the  mortgages  held  against  these  same  eastern  pur 
chasers.  In  every  case  Sharp  and  Ketchem  had  made 
money,  and  in  nearly  every  case  their  patrons  lost. 
Widows  allured  by  the  flashing  advertisements  of 
what  had  been  done  and  was  then  being  done  by  per 
sons  of  small  means,  ' '  in  this  Eldorado, ' '  had  invested 
in  lots,  and  after  the  boom  they  offered  these  same 
lots  for  just  one  tenth  of  what  they  had  paid  for  them 
' '  spot  cash. ' ' 

79 


8o  "  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP. " 

This  same  Sharp  and  Ketchem  had  bought  out-of- 
town  tracts  and  laid  out  towns  on  paper  and  had 
sent  their  advertisements  all  over  the  land.  Thus 
they  succeeded  in  laying  out  their  customers  as  well 
as  their  land.  To-day  the  unfinished  foundations  of 
hotels  stand  like  traps  in  and  out  of  the  city,  showing 
how  the  ' '  gullible  ' '  were  caught.  Some  hotels  in 
these  towns  and  cities  to  be,  were  finished,  and  to  day 
they  stand  with  windows  mashed,  doors  nailed  up, 
and  chimneys  fallen,  fit  emblems  of  the  air  castles  the 
investors  had  built  in  and  around  "this  valuable 
property." 

Because  Sharp  and  Ketchem  had  been  ' '  successful 
in  business, ' '  the  latter  had  a  fine  suburban  home,  and 
drove  to  his  place  of  business  every  rnoruir.g  in  a 
splendid  turn-out.  Mr.  Sharp,  after  leaving  his  wife 
and  child,  had  boarded  at  the  best  hotel  in  the 
city,  and  had  played  poker  until  much  of  his  gain 
had  "gang  a  glee."  He  had  met  the  Dives  in 
"fashionable  society,"  but  they,  along  with  their 
money,  had  inherited  good  common  sense.  They  had 
weighed  Mr.  sharp  in  their  balances,  and  he  had  gone 
up  like  a  feather  in  a  breeze.  He  realized  this  very 
soon.  During  the  encampment  in  the  Sierras,  which 
he  had  been  able  to  join  by  his  strategy  with  the 
cousin  of  the  Dives,  he  had  utterly  failed  to  ' '  make 
an  impression  "  upon  any  one  of  the  party  except 
"  Miss  Octavia  Newman,  M.  D.,"  as  she  always  signed 
herself  on  the  hotel  registers.  The  Dives  could  not 
understand  why  Mr.  Sharp  boarded  the  train  that 


"  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP."  8l 

morning.  One  of  them  had  made  herself  bold  enough 
to  ask  his  destination.  He  had  told  her  that  an 
unforeseen  circumstance  had  brought  him  the  good 
fortune  of  a  journey  of  at  least  a  part  of  the  way  with 
them . 

During  the  journey  Mr.  Sharp  had  courted  Octavia 
assiduously,  although  he  was  still  the  lawful  husband 
of  another  woman.  Of  course  Octavia  did  not  look 
upon  Mr.  Sharp's  attentions  as  anything  more  than  an 
effort  to  be  agreeable  to  her.  He  took  pains  to  tell 
her  how  in  his  giddy  youth  he  had  become  entrapped 
in  the  meshes  of  matrimony  with  a  woman,  heartless 
and  brainless,  and  how,  finally,  he  having  proof  of  her 
infidelity,  was  about  to  apply  for  a  divorce.  His 
entire  being,  he  added,  rebelled  against  the  thought  of 
a  divorce,  but  he  could  do  nothing  else.  This  family 
history  of  Mr.  Sharp's  will  be  exactly  true,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  if  the  reader  substitutes  the  feminine 
for  the  masculine  personal  pronoun.  He  told  Octavia 
how  he  could  still  love  a  true  woman.  In  fact  the  sad 
experiences  of  the  past  years  had  made  him  j'earn  for 
the  love  of  a  true  woman.  In  short  Mr.  Sharp  talked 
like  a  philosopher,  and  assumed  the  role  of  a  perfect 
saint.  There  was  but  one  thing  which  kept  Octavia 
from  casting  herself  at  the  feet  of  this  truly  bad  man. 
It  was  not  her  good  sense,  for  she  had  little  of  that. 
It  was  her  pride.  She  was  willing  to  wed  a  rich  man, 
a  smart  man,  a  lawyer;  but  she  was  not  yet  ready  to 
wed  a  man  already  married. 


82  "  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP." 

The  business  which  had  so  recently  been  thrust 
upon  Octavia,  she  flattered  herself,  did  not  require  a 
husband,  or  a  lover  even;  a  smart  lawyer  like  Mr. 
Sharp  could  attend  to  that  for  her,  and  she  could  then 
be  mistress  of  her  own  possessions.  But  why  not  let 
the  man  woo  her  ?  It  was  so  delightful  to  have  a  man 
at  her  feet,  as  she  imagined  Mr.  Sharp  really  was. 
She  would  tell  him  all  after  he  would  declare  his 
inmost  soul  as  a  lover.  That  would  prepare  him  all 
the  more  to  attend  faithfully  to  her  business.  In 
short,  Octavia  wished  to  hear  the  words  so  sweet  to 
every  woman's  ears,  that  the  man  loved  her.  She 
little  dreamt  that  when  she  let  the  letter  lie  on  the 
table  in  the  parlor,  the  day  she  received  it,  and  had 
gone  out  for  a  few  moments,  when  Mr.  Sharp  was  an 
nounced,  he  had  actually  picked  up  the  letter  and 
hastily  read  it  before  her  return.  That  was  the  reason 
he  unburdened  his  soul  so  frankly  to  Miss  Octavia,  on 
the  way  to  New  York  City.  That  was  not  the  reason, 
however,  that  he  left  the  city  of  I^os  Angeles  that 
morning. 

At  Kansas  City  a  telegram  had  been  handed  him, 
and  Odlavia,  who  stood  at  his  side,  noticed  the  change 
which  came  over  his  face  as  he  read  it,  and  wondered 
what  made  him  so  nervous.  He  explained  by  saying 
that  a  friend  of  his  needed  his  legal  advice  in  New 
York  and  that  he  must  now  accompany  them  on  their 
journey  to  that  city.  Miss  Octavia  noticed  that  Mr. 
Sharp  from  the  time  he  received  the  telegram  was  en 
tirely  different  from  what  he  had  been  before.  He 


' '  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP. ' '  83 

would  try  to  appear  pleasant  and  cheerful;  but 
every  time  their  train  stopped  he  nervously 
glided  from  one  end  of  the  car  to  the  other, 
and  avoided  every  new  comer,  when  that  new 
comer  happened  to  be  a  man.  Octavia  remem 
bered  all  this  very  distinctly  afterward,  although  at 
the  time  it  made  no  decided  impression  on  her.  She 
had  been  too  supremely  happy  at  her  good  fortune  m 
receiving  the  letter  from  Omaha,  and  in  having  the 
company  of  so  estimable  a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Sharp. 
When  Mr.  Sharp  left  her  for  the  smoking-room  or  to 
examine  his  telegram,  which  he  of  course  did  not 
show  Miss  Octavia,  she  thought  with  pleasure  on  the 
fact  that  "  her  ship  had  at  length  come  in,"  and  j^as 
so  well  laden. 

The  Dives  knew  that  Mr.  Sharp  was  a  married  man. 
They  knew  too  that  their  cousin,  who  had  given  them 
the  information,  rather  palliated  his  baseness,  as 
women  are  so  apt  to  do  when  they  are  judging  a  man's 
conduct  towards  a  woman.  They  were  sorry  he  was 
accompanying  them  in  this  journey.  They  had  a 
strange  foreboding  that  all  was  not  right  before  he 
received  the  telegram.  They  noticed  the  strange 
demeanor  of  the  man  after  he  had  received  the  dis 
patch,  and  asked  him  whether  he  had  received  bad 
news,  or  whether  he  were  sick.  To  each  and  all  of 
their  questions  he  had  simply  replied:  "  Ladies,  I  do 
not  know  why  you  should  think  so."  Absolutely 
nothing  had  happened,  but  to  the  Dives  it  was  evident 
that  something  very  serious  had  happened,  if  they 


84  "  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP. " 

could  judge  from  his  demeanor.  Finally  they  plainly 
and  bluntly  told  Octavia  that  they  believed  Mr.  Sharp 
entirely  unworthy  of  her  society,  and  counseled  her  to 
' '  cut ' '  him  at  her  earliest  opportunity. 

Miss  Newman  replied  to  this  advice  with  a  curl  on 
her  lip,  that  the  Dives  knew  that  she  had  not  only 
taken  care  of  herself,  but  of  others  as  well,  and  that  it 
required  a  strong  and  well-balanced  mind  to  read  and 
appreciate  Mr.  Sharp.  After  this  the  Dives  said  noth 
ing,  but  they  thought  a  great  deal.  Miss  Newman 
had  been  a  faithful  medical  nurse  during  their  illness, 
and  on  this  trip  she  had  chaperoned  them,  and  they 
would  now,  as  they  had  frequently  done  before,  excuse 
her  independence,  and  even  impudence.  It  was 
evident  to  them,  and  they  could  not  see  why 
it  should  not  be  just  as  plain  to  her,  that  if  Mr.  Sharp 
were  on  business  of  an  ordinary  character,  he  would 
not  act  as  he  did,  and  show  such  restlessness  and  sus 
picion.  If  it  were  true,  as  he  had  told  Miss  Newman, 
that  the  L,os  Angeles  court  had  adjourned  for  the  sum 
mer,  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Sharp's  conscience  had 
recently  received  so  much  business  that  it  could  not 
adjourn.  Fear  had  evidently  constrained  it  to  open  a 
very  busy  session.  Of  course  Miss  Newman  was  her 
own  mistress,  and  could  do  as  she  pleased;  but  it  seemed 
so  strange  to  them  that  she  should  be  so  willing  to 
"  lower  her  dignity,"  upon  which  she  always  prided 
herself  heretofore,  to  such  a  degree  as  actually  to  fall 
in  love  with  a  grass- widower;  for  it  was  evident  to 
them  that  that  was  the  exact  state  of  Miss  Newman 


' '  DISSOLVED  PARTNERSHIP. ' '  85 

at  that  very  moment.  It  was  another  example  of 
how  ' '  the  chemist  of  love  ' '  had  transmuted  the  per 
ishable  and  very  coarse  clay  into  gold.  Perhaps  after 
all  she  would  cast  the  man  from  her  as  a  viper.  They 
hoped  it  might  be  so  ere  he  had  infused  beyond  rem 
edy,  his  poison  into  her  being.  Of  course  a  woman 
always  feels  herself  complimented  by  being  loved,  even 
when  love  is  offered  by  a  man  beneath  her  in  every 
respect,  and  consequently  unfit  to  merit  her  love  in 
return.  !Let  Miss  Newman  enjoy  the  compliment 
Sharp  was  trying  to  bestow  upon  her;  but  it  was  a 
question  whether  he  was  actually  in  love,  or  whether 
he  was  not  actuated  by  other  motives  than  those  of 
the  holy  passion,  to  gain  the  nurse's  affection. 

Perhaps  Miss  Octavia  was  so  blind  to  Mr.  Sharp's 
faults  because  she  felt  that  her  chances  were  diminish 
ing.  She  had  often  said  that  she  never  intended  to  be 
an  old  maid.  She  would  rather  marry  a  man  and  sup 
port  him  than  to  have  no  one  to  love  her.  Octavia 
had  a  heart,  but  her  pride  and  vanity  had  turned  it 
into  something  akin  to  stone.  Perhaps  if  this  unfor 
tunate  softening  of  her  soul  into  an  unrighteous  love 
would  bring  her  bitterness,  this  very  bitterness  would 
spin  the  golden  threads  of  a  more  comely  and  more 
becoming  robe  than  the  nurse  usually  wore  in  their 
daily  experience  with  her.  They  believed  that  a  bit 
ter  sorrow  would  crush  her  pride,  and  melt  her  being 
into  its  true  womanly  tenderness,  which  they  felt  must 
lie  buried  in  her  soul  somewhere. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE. 

"  Every  mission  constitutes  a  pledge  of  duty.  Every  man 
is  bound  to  consecrate  his  every  faculty  to  its  fulfillment.  He 
will  derive  his  rule  of  action  from  the  profound  conviction  of 
that  duty. ' ' — Mazzini. 

With  Mr.  Dives  a  book-keeper  had  many  and  varied 
duties.  Not  only  was  he  expected  to  keep  a  correct 
account  of  the  receipts  and  expenditures  of  Mr.  Dives' 
cattle  business;  but  he  was  often  compelled  to  look 
after  the  details  of  the  business.  Mr.  Dives  made  it  a 
point  to  see  that  his  men  were  supplied  with  good, 
wholesome  fare,  and  consequently  delivered  it  to  them 
at  actual  cost.  He  paid  them  a  fixed  salary;  but 
insisted  on  supplying  them  with  the  necessaries  of  life. 
There  were  no  periodical  sprees  among  his  men,  inau 
gurated  apparently  when  they  went  to  buy  food.  All 
goods  delivered  them  was  always  accompanied  with  an 
itemized  bill.  The  herders  in  turn  were  responsible 
for  the  cattle  in  their  charge.  The  stock  was  inspected 
once  every  month.  This  required  a  few  days;  but  it 
was  time  well  spent.  If  any  of  the  stock  were  mis 
sing,  the  herders  were  compelled  to  account  for  it.  If 
they  could  show  that  the  loss  was  due  to  disease,  or 
was  lost  in  any  way  for  which  they  could  not  be  held 
responsible,  the  loss  was  not  charged  to  them. 
86 


BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE.  87 

Just  before  the  time  the  book-keeper  then  known  as 
Number  8  had  visited  the  shanty  and  helped  himself 
to  bread,  a  number  of  horses  had  been  stolen,  and  Mr. 
Dives  suspected  that  the  cow-boys  had  themselves 
something  to  do  with  the  theft.  In  view  of  this  sus 
picion  he  had  said  that  for  every  horse  stolen  he 
expected  an  adequate  return.  This  was  the  reason 
the  herders  were  so  anxious  to  make  an  example  of 
the  thief,  provided  they  caught  him.  Number  8  had 
been  the  first  one  upon  whom  they  had  riveted  their 
suspicion.  He  had  been  unable  to  clear  himself,  and 
would  doubtless  have  been  hung,  had  it  not  been  for 
Carrie's  timely  interposition. 

Of  course  Carrie  Dives  never  gave  away  the  secret 
of  Number  8's  deliverance.  The  cow-boys  themselves 
considered  the  escape  little  short  of  miraculous,  and 
felt  sure  that  the  fellow  had  had  accomplices.  They 
did  not  suspect  that  the  well-dressed,  smoothly- 
shaven  young  man,  who,  in  company  with  Mr.  Dives, 
visited  them  once  every  month,  who  helped  to  look 
the  cattle  over,  and  who  noted  their  orders  for  the 
month's  supplies,  was  the  same  heavy-bearded,  rough- 
looking  Number  8,  whom  they  had  once  condemned  to 
be  hung.  They  felt  sure  they  had  made  no  mistake. 
Since  the  suspect  had  escaped,  they  had  had  rest.  He 
had  evidently  told  his  companions  that  they  meant 
business. 

Every  sixteenth  of  the  month  the  book-keeper 
would  write  receipts  for  the  men  of  the  amounts  due 
them,  then  they  would  step  to  the  desk  and  sign  these 


88  BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE. 

receipts,  in  the  office  in  the  home  of  the  Dives.  After 
they  were  signed  Mr.  Dives  would  cash  them.  Mr. 
Dives  kept  a  safe  in  his  office.  This  little  office  was  a 
room  by  itself,  communicating  with  the  book-keeper's 
room,  to  which  all  had  access  through  an  opening 
about  a  foot  square.  The  only  means  of  ingress  into 
this  private  office  was  through  a  door  which  communi 
cated  with  Mr.  Dives'  bed-room,  and  a  window  heavily 
grated. 

Mr.  Dives  would  draw  his  money  in  the  bank  at 
Denver  and  have  it  sent  by  express  to  the  little  station 
with  which  our  readers  are  already  familiar.  Here  he 
and  the  book-keeper  would  be  in  waiting  with  the 
mustangs  and  the  spring-wagon,  with  which  our  friend 
became  so  intimately  associated  on  his  first  return  to 
the  little  station.  The  money  would  soon  be  trans 
ported  from  the  train  to  the  safe  in  the  private  office. 

This  had  been  done  ever  since  Mr.  Dives  had  gone 
into  the  cattle  business.  He  had  never  been  molested, 
partly  because  few  knew  of  his  business  methods,  and 
partly  because  no  one  suspected  that  these  money 
shipments  amounted  to  over  a  few  hundred  dollars. 
When  he  sold  cattle  the  money  was  always  deposited 
directly  in  the  Denver  bank.  The  cow-boys  them 
selves  did  not  know  when,  or  how  he  received  his 
money.  For  all  they  knew,  it  might  have  grown  in 
Mr.  Dives'  cellar  under  the  stone  house.  In  some 
way,  somebody  found  out  that  Mr.  Dives  brought  con 
siderable  sums  of  money  to  his  safe  by  means  of  his 
mustang  team.  Carrie  always  said  that  it  was 


BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE.  89 

only  to  the  thievish  and  drunken  predecessor  in  the 
office  now  so  well  filled  by  Number  8.  She  scarcely 
knew  why  she  called  the  former  book-keeper  a  thief. 
She  had  missed  a  gold  ring,  it  is  true,  whilst  he  was 
in  their  employ;  but  someone  else  might  have  taken  it. 

One  evening  in  November  Mr.  Dives,  the  book 
keeper  and  Sambo  had  been  to  the  station  and  had 
received  some  groceries  and  general  produce,  and 
$1,500  in  coin.  The  coin  was  placed  into  little  sacks 
in  Denver.  The  silver  was  in  a  sack  much  larger  than 
the  rest.  These  sacks  had  been  placed  in  a  basket  at 
the  station,  and  some  powder  and  shot  and  other  things 
piled  on  top  of  them. 

As  the  three  were  driving  along  the  narrow  road 
where  Number  8  had  stopped  Carrie's  run-a-way,  Mr. 
Dives  began  talking  about  the  narrow  escape  the 
book-keeper  and  his  daughter  had  had  several  months 
before.  Among  other  things  he  had  just  said,  "  hope 
nothing  of  the  kind  will  ever  occur  again."  It  was 
already  dusk.  On  the  one  side  of  the  road,  the 
reader  will  remember,  the  hill  rose  almost  perpendicu 
larly;  on  the  other  there  was  a  bank  several  feet  high, 
which,  in  turn,  terminated  in  an  almost  precipitous 
declivity  over  a  hundred  feet  high. 

Mr.  Dives  had  hardly  expressed  his  hope  for  the 
safety  of  travelers  in  general  and  his  own  in  particu 
lar,  when  the  mustangs  reared  and  sprang  to  a  side. 
At  the  same  instant,  two  men  rising  apparently  out  of 
the  ground,  had  clutched  the  reins  of  the  ponies.  For 
a  moment  Mr.  Dives,  who  was  driving,  thought  that 


9O  BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE. 

the  men,  having  been  sitting  on  the  bank,  had  unex 
pectedly  frightened  the  team,  and  realizing  that  they 
were  endangering  the  lives  of  the  persons  in  the 
wagon,  had  tried  to  undo  the  mischief  by  clutching 
the  reins  and  holding  the  horses  until  they  could  be 
quieted.  His  mind  was,  however,  soon  disabused  when 
he  saw  another  with  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  jumping 
into  the  wagon  back  of  them.  At  the  same  time  the 
man  holding  the  horse  on  the  right,  shouted,  "Do 
not  turn  your  heads  or  in  any  way  move  yourselves, 
or  we  will  put  daylight  through  you. ' '  The  man  on 
the  wagon  said  to  Sambo,  who  was  squatted  on  the 
floor  of  the  wagon,  "You  nigger,  hand  me  that 
money."  Sambo  handed  the  robber  the  little  bag  on 
top  of  the  basket.  The  robber  clutched  it  eagerly, 
but  the  moment  he  touched  it  he  felt  the  shot;  hurl 
ing  it  into  the  road  with  an  oath,  he  said:  "  No  more 
fooling.  Hand  the  money,  I  say."  "  I's  got  no 
money, ' '  said  Sambo.  Then  there  was  a  dull  thud.  Mr. 
Dives  and  the  book-keeper  knew  what  had  happened, 
although  Sambo  gave  no  sound.  Quick  as  thought 
Number  8  had  turned  and  struck  the  robber,  who  for 
the  moment  was  off  his  guard,  a  stinging  blow  on  the 
arm  with  which  he  had  dealt  Sambo  the  blow,  with 
the  butt  of  the  pistol.  The  revolver  fell  and  was  dis 
charged  into  the  opposite  bank,  just  about  the  same 
time  that  a  shot  whistled  past  Number  8's  ear.  The 
mustangs,  being  frightened  by  the  shot,  reared, 
plunged  forward,  and  threw  the  men  who  had  held 
them  to  the  ground.  Mr.  Dives  shouted  to  the  horses, 


BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE.  9! 

and  in  a  moment  the  wheels  had  gone  over  the  fellows 
on  the  road  in  front  of  the  wagon,  whilst  the  ruffian 
who  had  gone  head  over  heels  into  the  road  from  the 
rear  of  the  wagon,  was  running  on  behind  and  dis 
charging  his  revolver  wildly  into  the  air. 

Firm  strength  guided  the  team  on  the  mountain 
road,  and  in  a  moment  the  wagon  had  borne  coin,  oc 
cupants  and  all,  far  away  from  the  high- way-men.  In 
an  hour  afterward  the  coin  was  in  the  safe  in  the  pri 
vate  office,  and  Miss  Carrie  was  washing  the  blood  off 
poor  Sambo's  head.  The  wound  was  merely  a  gash 
on  his  hard  head,  and  soon  healed. 

Of  course  I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  second  dis 
play  of  valor  on  the  part  of  Number  8  had  its  effe<5l 
upon  Mr.  Dives  as  well  as  Carrie.  A  few  days  after 
the  affair  just  mentioned,  Mr.  Dives  had  said  to  Car 
rie,  referring  to  the  agility  of  the  book-keeper's  move 
ment,  and  his  indifference  to  the  fellows  who  held  pis 
tols  in  front  of  the  wagon,  "To  tell  you  the  truth, 
Carrie,  I  consider  the  book-keeper  one  of  the  most  re 
liable  and  cool-headed  men  I  ever  saw.  He  is  always 
the  same,  no  matter  in  what  position  he  is  placed." 
(Had  Mr.  Dives  seen  our  friend  when  he  was  arrested 
for  a  horse-thief  he  would  have  known  of  one  time 
when  Number  8  had  lost  his  presence  of  mind.)  "I 
have  a  big  job  on  hand  for  .him  now.  I  am  going 
to  send  him  to  Santa  Fe  in  a  few  weeks,  to  buy  some 
burros  from  the  Pueblo  Indians.  I  think  he  kupws  a 
good  beast  when  he  sees  it  just  about  as  well  as  any 
herder  on  the  place.  A  car  load  or  two  will  readily  sell 


92  BRAVERY  BEGETS  CONFIDENCE. 

among  the  miners  here,  and  net  a  good  profit. 
He  says  the  trip  will  suit  him  exactly.  He  has  an 
uncle  in  Santa  Fe  and  several  cousins.  He  met  one 
of  them  in  Denver  a  few  years  ago.  This  will  enable 
him  to  make  good  his  promise  to  call  and  see  them." 

"  When  are  you  going  to  send   him?  "  said  Carrie. 

' '  I  thought  I  could  spare  him  at  the  begining  of  next 
week  as  well  as  any  time.  The  heaviest  work  for  the 
month  is  all  done." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Carrie,  "  because  I  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Denver  to-day,  from  Dr.  Burns, 
in  which  he  says  he  will  come  and  spend  a  few  days 
with  us  if  it  is  agreeable.  I  so  much  wish  that  my 
hero,  as  I  call  him,  could  be  here  then." 

"  Whatever  you  may  wish,"  said  Mr.  Dives,  "  Dr. 
Burns  will  wish  your  hero,  as  you  call  him,  anywhere 
but  here,  when  he  comes.  Besides,  the  arrangements 
for  our  friend  to  go  are  all  made.  I  guess  you  will  be 
able  to  take  care  of  the  doctor  yourself,  will  you  not  ?  " 

' '  I  can  certainly  take  care  of  the  doctor,  and  fortu 
nately  for  me  and  my  hero,  it  is  none  of  the  doctor's 
business  who  is  here  when  he  comes.  But  it  is  nearly 
eleven  o'clock  and  time  to  retire.  Papa,  do  recon 
sider  sending  my  hero  away  next  week.  I  shall  be 
really  disappointed  if  he  goes. ' ' 

"  Never  mind,  little  one,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
' '  the  doctor  will  be  so  glad  to  find  you  all  alone.  It 
will  give  him  a  chance  to  practice  target  shooting. 
The  last  time  his  aim  was  so  bad  that  even  Sambo 
said,  '  this  fool  nigger  can  shoot  better  than  Massa 
Doctor.'  But  as  you  say,  it  is  time  to  retire.  Good 
night,  my  dear  girl." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SHE  LOVED  WELL,  BUT  NOT  WISELY. 

' '  Of  the  book  of  books  most  wonderous, 
Is  the  tender  one  of  love, 
With  attention  may  I  read; 
Few  of  pages  joyful — 
Of  the  sections  one  is  parting, — 
Meet  again : — a  little  chapter, 
Fragmentary. — Of  Afflictions 
Volumes  lengthened  by  interpellations, 
Endless  without  goal."  —  Goethe. 

We  have  already  said  too  much  of  Mr.  Sharp's 
family  matters,  not  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  how 
he  wooed  and  lost  pretty  Minnie  G.  of  L,os  Angeles. 
Minnie  was  a  mere  girl  in  appearance  as  well  as  age, 
when  Sharp  led  her  to  the  marriage  altar.  She  had 
come  from  a  poor  family,  but  she  had  been  brought  up 
in  the  paths  of  virtue,  and  had  been  taught  many  of 
those  little  arts  so  peculiar  to  her  sex — the  arts  that 
embellish  the  humblest  home,  and  give  it  an  air  of 
comfort  and  repose  which  often  the  gayest  palace 
lacks.  She  had  learned  to  sew  and  help  her  mother  in 
her  dress-making  several  years  before  Sharp  had  en 
tered  their  home,  and  had  poisoned  the  fountains  of 
their  domestic  happiness.  Sharp  was  then  already  in 
the  real-estate  business.  He  had  begun  life  as  a 
clerk  in  a  dry-goods  store,  which  he  had  entered  soon 
after  graduating  from  the  high  school.  It  was  whilst 

93 


94  SHE  I,OVED  WEI,!,, 

he  was  behind  the  counter  selling  dress-goods,  that  he 
first  met  pretty  Minnie  G.  in  company  with  her 
mother.  Minnie  was  a  perfect  blonde,  keeping  a  com 
plexion  as  fair  as  a  pictured  mermaid's,  although  she 
was  out  in  the  hot  California  sun  every  day.  Her 
eyes  were  clear  and  pretty  as  the  azure  of  the  skies. 
"  Her  sunny  locks  hung  on  her  temples  like  a  golden 
fleece." 

Sharp  was  not  the  only  person  in  that  store  that  was 
ensnared  by  the  quiet,  unassuming  beauty  of  this  girl; 
but  being  a  little  bolder  than  the  rest,  he  made  it  his 
business  to  become  acquainted  after  the  first  call  of 
the  young  girl  at  the  store.  The  permission  to  call  at 
her  home  was  asked  of  her  mother.  She  was  at  first 
favorably  impressed  with  the  young  man,  partly  be 
cause  he  seemed  so  frank  in  all  his  demeanor  toward 
her.  But  Sharp  was  one  of  those  cunning  men,  who, 
like  serpents  slowly  coiling  around  the  limb  upon 
which  is  situated  the  nest  of  the  bird,  do  not  strike 
until  their  heads  tower  over  the  little  creatures'  home, 
and  see  all  that  it  contains.  He,  unlike  the  serpent, 
had  the  ability  to  conceal  his  snaky  nature  until  he 
had  his  prey  in  his  power. 

Minnie's  mother  was  a  widow.  Her  father  had 
died  several  years  before  Mr.  Sharp  met  the  widow 
and  her  daughter.  He  had  been  an  honest  and  indus 
trious  mechanic,  and  had  left  Minnie  and  her  mother 

a  neat,  comfortable  home  on  Avenue.  The 

mother  and  her  daughter  had  not  only  kept  out  of 
debt,  but  had  been  able  to  lay  a  little  by  from  the  pro- 


BUT  NOT  WISELY.  95 

ceeds  of  their  work  as  seamstresses.  Minnie  had 
bought  a  piano,  and  had  become  a  proficient  performer, 
before  she  sang  love  ditties  for  Sharp. 

Sharp  at  first  called  only  once  a  week  at  Minnie's 
home,  because  he  knew  that  he  was  not  welcome  to 
call  oftener,  at  least  with  the  young  lady's  mother. 
He  took  Minnie  out  to  the  theatre  and  other  places  of 
amusement  as  often  as  his  means  permitted  him. 
He  always  tried  to  make  the  impression  that  he  had 
plenty  of  money;  but  those  who  knew  him  best  also 
knew  that  his  funds  were  limited.  Before  Minnie's 
mother  was  aware  of  it  the  young  people  were  engaged. 
To  most  mothers  the  news  that  a  daughter  is  engaged 
is  unwelcome.  Especially  is  this  the  case  when  the 
daughter  is  an  only  daughter,  an  only  child,  as  in  this 
instance.  When  Minnie  communicated  this  news  to 
her  mother,  the  elder  lady  laid  by  her  work  and  for 
several  moments  simply  stared  at  her  daughter. 
Finally  she  said,  "  Minnie,  I  can  scarcely  believe  that 
you,  only  eighteen,  should  engage  yourself  to  a  man 
who  is  not  only  five  or  six  years  older,  but  concerning 
whom  you  know  as  little  as  we  know  of  Mr.  Sharp. 
Seven  months  ago  he  was  an  utter  stranger.  To-day 
he  is  little  more.  Why  did  you  at  least  not  honor 
your  mother  enough  to  consult  her  on  so  important  a 
subject?  You  know  that  Mr.  Sharp  comes  from  San 

Diego.     You  know  that  he  is  a   clerk   in  store. 

What  else  do  you  know?  Nothing;  yes,  you  do  know 
that  he  does  not  get  wages  enough  to  support  a  wife. 
Minnie,  I  thought  that  you  would  have  better  sense." 


96  SHE  LOVED  WEU,, 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  love  Mr.  Sharp.  He 
has  always  treated  me  well.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  and  I  promised,  because  I  love  him.  If  you  did 
not  wish  me  to  fall  in  love  with  Mr.  Sharp,  why  did 
you  permit  him  to  come  to  see  me  for  half  a  year, 
without  telling  him  so?  " 

Minnie  was  right.  Her  mother  had  made  a  mistake 
in  allowing  Sharp  to  make  regular  and  frequent  calls 
on  her  daughter,  when  she  knew  that  her  daughter 
was  too  young  to  marry,  and  Mr.  Sharp  had  not  suffi 
cient  salary  to  support  a  wife  respectably.  Minnie's 
mother  made  the  same  mistake  that  thousands  of 
mothers  have  made  and  are  making. 

When  Sharp  called  that  evening,  Minnie's  mother 
made  it  a  point  to  come  to  the  door.  She  ushered  him 
into  the  parlor;  then,  without  further  ado,  she  said, 
"Minnie  has  told  me  of  your  engagement.  Mr. 
Sharp,  why  did  you  not  ask  me  for  my  daughter's 
hand?  Am  I  not  her  mother,  her  dearest  and  best 
friend  she  has  on  earth  ?  ' ' 

Sharp  was  taken  by  surprise.  If  he  would  have 
told  her  the  truth,  he  would  have  said,  "The  very 
reason  I  did  not  ask  you  for  your  daughter  is  because 
I  know  you  to  be  her  best  friend.  I  have  asked  your 
daughter  to  be  my  wife  largely  for  convenience  sake. 
I  think  I  love  her,  at  least  enough  to  live  with  her  for 
awhile."  But  Mr.  Sharp  was  too  wise  to  speak  the 
very  thoughts  he  had  had  on  that  subject,  so  he  said: 
"  Minnie  has  consented  to  be  my  wife,  and  I  have 
promised  to  make  her  a  good  husband.  We  really  did 


BUT  NOT  WISELY.  97 

not  think  of  asking  your  consent.  We  thought  you 
would  not  object;  because  you  never  objected  to  my 
coming  here." 

' '  And  how  do  you  expect  to  support  your  wife  ? 
You  know,  Mr.  Sharp,  you  are  getting  a  small  salary." 

"  Minnie  said  she  would  stay  with  you  a  year  or  two 
after  our  marriage.  I  am  leaving  the  store  and  am 
going  into  the  real-estate  business  with  Mr.  Ketchem. 
I  will  read  law  with  him,  and  do  most  of  his  real-estate 
business,  and  get  a  salary  from  the  start.  In  a  few 
years  I  will  enter  the  bar,  and  my  living  will  be 
assured." 

"Those  plans  are  all  very  good,"  said  Minnie's 
mother,  ' '  but  are  you  sure  you  can  carry  them  out  ? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  marry  after  your  business  is 
well  established  ?  ' ' 

Mr.  Sharp  consented  to  any  and  all  propositions  that 
Minnie's  mother  made  that  evening.  He  thought 
that  he  was  master  of  the  situation,  and  he  could  mod- 
ifv  the  mother's  plans  to  suit  himself.  He  did  modify 
them  afterwards,  but  not  exactly  to  suit  himself.  As 
soon  as  he  found  that  even  an  engagement  did  not 
make  him  master  of  the  pretty  Minnie,  he  proposed 
that  they  get  married  at  once.  This  was  two  weeks 
after  their  engagement.  Minnie  said  she  would  con 
sult  her  mother.  Sharp  told  her  he  knew  her  moth 
er's  answer  in  advance.  "  Then,"  said  she,  "  we_will 
wait.  Mother  knows  best." 

"  We  will  not  wait,"  was  his  hasty  reply.     "  Did 


98  SHE  I.OVED 

you  not  promise  to  marry  me  ?  Do  you  not  love  me 
better  than  any  one  in  all  the  world  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  Harry,  I  love  you,  and  I  will  marry  you;  but 
you  know  you  promised  mother  to  wait. ' ' 

For  more  than  a  month  Sharp  argued,  plead  with 
Minnie  to  marry  him  at  once.  Finally  the  girl  told 
him  she  had  consulted  her  mother,  and  she  positively 
forbade  it,  for  a  year  to  come.  By  that  time  he  would 
be  better  established  in  his  business,  and  they  would 
be  happier  when  there  was  no  danger  of  the  wolf 
entering  the  door,  so  that  love  would  fly  out  of  the 
window.  Sharp  that  evening  had  come  prepared  to 
gain  Minnie's  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage. 
Reaching  into  his  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  roll  of  bills, 
and  counted  them  before  Minnie's  astonished  gaze. 
There  were  two-hundred  dollars,  which  to  the  girl 
seemed  a  big  sum,  especially  when  she  learned  that 
Mr.  Sharp  had  made  all  that  money  that  very  day. 
He  said  he  had  prospedls  of  making  twice  that  sum 
to-morrow.  He  knew  that  no  later  .than  ten  and  a 
half  o'clock  the  shrill  treble  of  his  prospective  mother- 
in-law  would  ring  out  the  words,  "Minnie,  come  to 
your  room."  At  nine  o'clock  that  evening  Sharp 
asked  Minnie  to  take  a  walk.  He  wished  to  walk, 
because  he  was  going  to  insist  on  an  elopement,  pro 
vided  Minnie  would  not  assure  him  that  her  mother 
would  swerve  from  her  resolution  of  making  the  young 
people  wait.  Minnie  assured  him  in  that  walk  that 
her  mother  would  not  change  her  mind.  "Then," 
said  Sharp,  "  we  marry  next  week." 


BUT  NOT  WISELY.  99 

"  How  can  we,"  said  the  startled  girl. 

"By  going  to  San  Diego.  We  can  get  a  license 
there,  and  be  married  before  your  mother  knows  it. 
We  will  come  home  and  surprise  her." 

"Say  rather  we  will  come  home  and  she  will  sur 
prise  us  by  not  letting  us  into  her  house.  I  know  my 
mother.  She  is  a  good,  dear  mother,  but  she  has  a 
mind  of  her  own." 

"  In  that  respect  you  are  like  her,  Minnie.  You 
must  choose  between  your  mother  and  me  this  very 
evening.  Next  week  or  never.  If  you  love  me  you 
will  consent  to  my  wishes.  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

Finally  Minnie  begged  for  a  day's  consideration. 
Sharp  hesitated.  He  asked  himself  whether  he  had 
not  come  to  settle  the  matter  of  their  marriage  at  once. 
Coldly  and  heartlessly  he  asked  himself  whether  he 
would  cast  her  off  then  and  there,  but  unfortunately 
for  Minnie,  he  decided  he  would  not.  L/ooking  at  his 
watch,  he  found  that  it  lacked  only  a  quarter  to  ten, 
and  knowing  that  Minnie's  mother  had  not  been  told 
of  their  going  away,  he  said,  "  All  right,  dear,  I  will 
see  you  to-morrow  evening."  He  kissed  her  good 
night  and  was  gone. 

That  night  and  all  next  day  Minnie  had  a  sad  heart. 
More  than  once  her  mother  had  asked  her  whether 
she  was  ill.  If  the  girl  would  candidly  and  frankly 
have  told  her  mother  the  cause  of  her  disquietude,  she 
might  have  been  saved.  Before  the  sun  had  set,  Min 
nie  had  made  up  her  mind  to  elope  with  her  lover. 
When  he  came,  she  would  tell  him  so. 


100  SHE  I<OVED  WEU,, 

Mr.  Sharp  came  earlier  than  usual  that  evening,  and 
together  the  two  laid  their  plans.  We  will  not  dwell 
on  their  conversation,  but  we  will  simply  add  that 
they  planned  away  their  happiness.  They  resolved  to 
enter  upon  a  course  of  deception  and  wrong-doing 
which  for  both  of  them  was  simply  fearful  in  its 
results.  ' '  Never  yet  were  the  feelings  and  instincts 
of  our  nature  violated  with  impunity;  never  yet  was 
the  voice  of  conscience  silenced  without  retribution." 

The  day  before  the  time  Minnie  was  to  take  the 
train  for  Sau  Diego,  her  mother  said  to  her,  "  Minnie, 
you  are  no  longer  the  girl  you  used  to  be.  You  are 
so  quiet,  so  sad.  You  are  getting  thinner  every  day. 
You  are  only  a  shadow  of  your  former  self.  I  don't 
hear  you  sing  any  more.  Your  piano  has  not  been 
touched  for  a  week.  When  your  lover  comes  you 
either  go  out  walking,  or  you  sit  together,  whispering. 
I  believe  it  would  be  much  better  for  you,  child,  if 
you  would  tell  that  man  to  go  about  his  business.  I 
like  him  less  the  longer  I  know  him.  I  was  told  by 
Mrs.  B.  only  the  other  day  that  she  saw  him  in  a 
buggy  with  another  young  lady,  and  that  she  heard  it 
said  that  he  frequented  questionable  places.  Minnie, 
it  would  be  a  thousand  times  better  for  you  and  me 
both  if  you  would  break  your  engagement." 

As  Pilate  was  warned  by  his  wife  before  he  passed 
the  sentence  of  death  upon  the  innocent  Christ,  as  was 
the  great  Caesar  warned  before  he  went  to  his  death, 
so  the  mother  of  Minnie  warned  her,  before  she  took 
the  step  which  in  the  end  proved  as  fatal  to  her 


BUT  NOT  WISELY.  IOI 

earthly  happiness  as  death  itself  could  have  been.  In 
answer  to  her  mother's  warning,  Minnie  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears  and  left  the  room. 

When  alone  she  argued  that  she  knew  Mr.  Sharp 
better  than  either  her  neighbor  or  her  mother.  A 
real-estate  agent  would  be  likely  to  have  ladies  riding 
with  him  occasionally.  He  himself  had  told  her  that 
he  had  only  a  few  days  before  taken  some  ladies  to  see 
some  lots  and  had  made  ' '  a  good  deal . ' '  She  did  not 
exactly  know  what  that  was,  but  she  knew  it  could 
not  mean  anything  very  dreadful.  When  people  got 
married  everybody  spoke  badly  of  them.  That  was 
the  reason  she  was  compelled  to  hear  all  this  of  her 
lover.  She  would  be  true  to  him.  Poor  girl,  had  she 
only  known  it,  her  being  true  to  him  made  her  untrue 
to  herself  and  him  as  well.  The  next  day  she  put  on 
her  best  and  went  "  down-town,"  as  she  said  to  her 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS. 

"  L,o:  the  poor  Indian,  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds  or  hears  him  in  the  wind, 
His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk  or  milky-way. ' ' — Pope. 

Will  the  reader  kindly  accompany  us  with  Carrie's 
hero  to  the  quaint  old  town  of  Santa  Fe  ?  We  will 
visit  with  him  at  his  cousin's,  in  the  place  where  two 
civilizations  have  met,  a  place  where  the  low  adobe 
buildings  look  up  to  the  high  walls  of  the  more 
modern  dwellings,  like  weazen -visaged  old  Mexican 
mothers  sit  and  look  up  to  their  stalwart,  sombreroed 
sons.  Everybody  in  the  old  city  knows  the  pretty 
park  in  which  the  military  band  discourses  sweet 
music  to  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious,  to  the  lover  and 
his  lady,  who  lounge  on  the  seats,  or  stroll  along  the 
walks. 

About  three  squares  from  this  park,  just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bridge,  there  stands  a  frame  house 
with  a  big  porch  fronting  on  the  stream  that  at  the 
wet  season  flows  beneath  the  bridge.  In  this  house, 
for  a  number  of  years  already,  a  stout,  good-natured 
woman  and  a  weak,  sickly-looking  man  have  been 
keeping  a  boarding-house.  They  came  from  the  East 
ern  States  because  of  the  man's  health.  They  had 


BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS.  103 

lived  first  in  the  "  Empire  State;  "  then  they  had  gone 
to  the  "Keystone,"  and  afterward  to  the  "Old 
Dominion;  "  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Each  winter  the 
man  became  a  little  weaker,  or  rather  he  did  not  gain 
as  much  when  the  next  summer  came  as  he  had  lost 
the  previous  winter.  As  a  last  resort  they  had  come 
to  New  Mexico.  Here  the  man  had  so  far  succeeded 
in  keeping  death  at  bay  by  the  combined  help  of  the 
dry  climate,  lotions  and  blisters,  and  tonics. 

But  it  is  neither  in  the  man  or  woman  that  we  are 
interested.  These  parents  have  three  children,  a  son 
and  two  daughters.  The  children  so  far  have  never 
needed  medicine  to  keep  them  well.  For  years 
already  they  have  done  more  than  the  boarders  to  give 
their  parents  a  good  living.  The  son,  now  more  than 
twenty-three  years  of  age,  has  been  working  in  the 
mines  or  on  the  railroad  ever  since  he  was  fifteen  years 
of  age.  He  has  come  home  frequently  during  this 
period.  Sometimes  he  has  come  with  his  pockets  well 
filled  with  the  product  of  his  toil.  Other  times  he  has 
come  with  little;  but  he  has  always  received  a  good 
welcome,  and  has  always  brought  a  clear  conscience 
with  him,  as  well  as  a  rousing  good  appetite. 

Once  this  young  man  had  been  away  for  a  whole 
year.  He  had  spent  his  time  during  this  year  at  work 
on  the  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  railway.  He  had  met 
a  friend  in  a  hotel  where  they  both  were  stopping. 
The  meeting  had  been  by  the  merest  accident.  Before 
the  two  friends  had  parted,  they  had  promised  to  meet 
again  in-  a  year,  and  in  the  home  of  the  invalid  man 


IO4  BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS. 

and  his  wife  who  keep  the  boarding-house.  When 
the  year  was  up  the  friend  came.  He  found  the  house 
by  the  Arroyo,  as  the  Spanish  called  the  dry  river- 
course  in  front  of  the  house  in  Santa  Fe;  but  the 
young  man  was  away  from  home.  The  sisters  and 
parents  did  not  know  where  he  was.  He  had  started 
to  Denver  and  had  written  to  them  from  that  city 
several  times;  but  for  six  months  already  they  had  not 
heard  a  word.  They  said  this,  betraying  not  a  little 
anxiety  at  the  long  continued  silence  of  the  boy  who 
was  dear  to  parents  and  sisters  alike. 

Of  course  the  visitor  had  no  trouble  in  making  him 
self  known.  He  was  received  with  open  hands  and 
hearts.  He  was  in  fact  the  first  that  had  come  to  the 
home  in  the  ten  years  of  their  residence  in  the  terri 
tory,  who  claimed  to  have  the  same  blood  in  his  veins 
with  them.  It  was  the  first  time  the  visitor  had  been 
in  the  territory.  Everything  was  new  to  him.  The 
Pueblo  girls  with  their  straight  black  hair  and  short 
skirts,  and  the  queer  brown  black  cloths  which  they 
had  wrrapped  around  their  limbs  to  their  knees  was  a 
source  of  endless  amusement  to  the  visitor.  He  had 
visited  their  villages  in  company  with  the  two  ladies, 
and  being  accompanied  by  females,  he  had  been  shown 
more  favors  than  if  he  had  come  without  them.  He 
had  learned  much  of  the  habits  and  ancient  customs 
still  prevalent  among  this  queer  and  interesting  people. 
But  in  all  of  Carrie  Dives'  hero's  trips,  for  this  is  he 
who  the  visitor  to  the  friends  in  Santa  Fe  is,  nothing 
compares  in  interest  with  his  visit,  to  the  Acoma 


BURROS  AND  PUEBI.OS.  105 

Pueblo.  Inasmuch  as  this  trip  required  two  days  and 
some  "roughing  it"  the  girls  stayed  at  home,  and 
their  father  accompanied  him. 

Not  everybody  knows  that  Acoma  is  on  the  top  of  a 
rock  three  hundred  feet  high.  A  brief  description 
will  be  necessary  in  order  that  our  readers  may  more 
fully  enter  into  the  experiences  of  the  two  men  in  this 
interesting  trip.  There  are  two  ways  of  getting  to  the 
top  of  the  rock.  On  the  one  side  of  this  rock  is  a 
narrow  fissure.  Into  it  the  Indians  cut  steps,  first  one 
on  the  one  side,  then  one  on  the  other,  thus  to  the  top. 
For  at  least  two  hundred  years  already  they  have 
walked  these  steps  to  and  from  their  homes  perched 
on  the  top  of  the  rock.  Once  on  the  top  of  this 
mighty  monumental  rock,  one  brave  could  defend  the 
village,  or,  rather,  community  against  a  host  of  foes, 
were  it  not  for  the  facl  that  for  the  last  one-hundred 
years  nature  has  provided  another  means  of  ascent. 
This  is  in  the  shape  of  another  fissure  as  it  originally 
was,  or  canon  as  it  "now  is.  This  canon  is  on  the  west 
ern  side  of  the  rock.  During  many  decades  already 
the  wind  has  been  drifting  clean  white  sand  into  it,  so 
that  now  there  is  a  path-way  white  as  pearl  from  the 
bottom  to  the  very  top.  This  path-way  ascends  at  an 
angle  of  about  sixty  or  seventy  degrees.  The  path  is 
widest  at  the  base,  being  upward  of  fifty  feet  wide 
there.  Over  this  path  the  burros  are  now  led.  The 
fathers  of  the  present  Acomas  had  no  possible  approach 
to  their  nest-like  home  with  their  faithful  little  mules. 
It  may  be  that  they  hoisted  them  to  the  top  in  time  of 


106  BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS. 

war  by  some  contrivance  of  which  the  present  inhab 
itants  know  nothing. 

These  Indians  have  a  tradition  that  before  the  white 
man  visited  America  their  fathers  lived  on  another 
rock  close  by,  and  much  higher  than  the  one  the  peo 
ple  now  occupy.  In  confirmation  of  their  assertion 
they  point  to  a  great  pile  of  rock  at  the  base  of  this 
vast  monumental  pillar;  and  explain  to  the  visitor  that 
this  is  the  remains  of  the  colossal  stair-way  which 
once  led  to  the  top,  and  over  which  their  great,  great, 
great  grand- fathers  ascended  to  their  home. 

They  explain  that  once  when  all  the  women  and 
children,  except  three  feeble  old  women,  were  at  work 
in  the  fields,  near  the  base  of  the  rock,  the  Great 
Spirit  sent  a  mighty  earthquake,  and  rent  the  rocks 
and  scattered  the  adamantine  stair-way  over  the  plain. 

It  was  many  months  before  a  new  ascent  could  be 
provided  by  the  people  at  the  base  of  the  rock.  When 
they  finally  did  get  up  they  found  that  the  old  women 
had  perished  for  want  of  water  or  food  or  both.  To 
this  day  on  certain  occasions,  such  as  when  a  calamity 
is  about  to  befall  the  tribe,  they  still  hear  the  wail  of 
the  old  ladies.  However  true  or  untrue  this  may  be, 
the  place  as  it  now  exists  is  well  worthy  of  a  visit. 

Our  friends  spent  the  night  on  top  of  the  rock  in  the 
home  of  the  chief.  They  found  him  hospitable  to  a 
degree  which  they  could  not  have  credited  before  they 
actually  experienced  it.  No  doubt  the  gold  pieces 
which  Mr.  Dives'  book-keeper  had  paid  the  old  chief 
tain  the  day  before  for  thirty  of  the  finest  burros  had 


BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS.  IO7 

opened  his  heart.  Whatever  may  be  said  with  regard 
to  the  influence  which  the  gold  of  the  visitors  had  had 
in  prompting  to  deeds  of  hospitality,  these  people  are 
very  much  unlike  their  savage  neighbors,  the  inhu 
man  Apaches.  The  Pueblos  seem  to  be  the  last 
remains  of  a  people  of  a  higher  civilization  than  that 
which  characterized  the  great  bulk  of  American  Indi 
ans  at  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  this  Western  World. 
The  invalid  from  Santa  Fe  said  to  his  companion,  "  I 
tell  you,  my  young  friend,  I  had  no  idea  that  I  have 
been  so  near  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  curious  pages 
of  ancient  history  as  this  which  we  have  found  writ 
ten  on  the  top  of  this  rock.  I  am  sorry  that  I  did  not 
bring  the  girls  with  us.  The  fatigue  is  nothing, 
whilst  the  comforts  which  these  people  offer  their 
guests  compare  favorably  with  those  which  men  who 
boast  of  a  higher  degree  of  civilization  furnish  their  vis 
itors.  ' '  The  book-keeper  agreed  with  him.  Not  only  was 
the  visit  unattended  with  the  discomforts  which  they 
had  imagined  they  would  be  sure  to  experience;  but  it 
had  been  delightfully  instructive. 

There  was  one  person  of  whom  our  friend  thought 
oftener  and  more  intently  than  of  the  girls  he  had  left 
in  Santa  Fe.  That  person  was  Miss  Carrie  Dives. 
He  knew  that  she  would  have  enjoyed  the  trip  as 
much  as  any  girl  on  the  American  continent.  She 
was  not  afraid  of  a  few  hardships.  The  same  out-door 
life  which  gave  these  Acoma  girls  their  elasticity  of 
movement  and  well  rounded  and  developed  forms, 
had  also  given  Carrie  wonderful  strength  for  a  girl 


IdS  BURROS  AND  PUEBI.OS. 

who  had  been  so  delicately  reared  until  almost  the 
period  when  girlhood  is  lost  in  fully  developed  woman 
hood.  He  could  easily  see  how  centuries  of  ancestral 
life  similar  to  this  the  Pueblo  girls  were  leading, 
should  produce  the  long,  straight,  black  locks,  the 
round,  chubby  cheek,  and  the  lithe  limb.  But,  after 
all,  there  was  something  in  ancestral  stock,  which  pre 
served  a  form  so  distinct  from  that  of  the  Apaches, 
who  shared  very  much  the  same  conditions  of  out-door 
life,  and  precisely  the  same  conditions  of  climate. 

The  enjoyment  of  the  scenes  which  his  eyes  were 
beholding,  would  have  been  keener  had  Carrie  been 
with  him,  he  admitted;  but  then,  what  was  Carrie  to 
him  ?  What  could  she  ever  be  to  the  man  who  was 
under  obligations  to  her  for  saving  his  life  twice.  He 
had  said  to  himself  again  and  again,  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  her  good  nursing  with  which  she  had  supple 
mented  the  doctor's  oversight,  and  Jim's  attention, 
he  would  never  have  gotten  out  of  the  bed  in  the 
sunny  room  in  the  stone  house.  What  could  she  ever 
be  to  the  him,  but  the  daughter  of  his  employer  ?  She 
was  pretty;  he  was  not  handsome.  She  was  rich;  he 
was  poor.  She  had  had  the  advantages  of  a  liberal 
education  in  New  York  before  she  ever  dreamt  of 
coming  to  this  western  country;  he  had  not  thought 
of  the  advantages  of  learning  until  it  was  too  late  to 
lay  thoroughly  even  the  rudiments  of  a  liberal  educa 
tion.  No,  he  was  not  suited  to  Carrie  Dives  even  if 
she  could  love  him,  and  thus  far  he  had  not  asked  her; 
had  not  presumed  so  to  do.  He  had  no  right  to  think 


BURROS  AND  PUEBI.OS.  log 

that  she  would  ever  love  him.  Why  should  she  ?  No 
man  in  Colorado  Springs  would  be.  able  to  resist  her 
bewitching  blue  eyes  and  those  rosy  lips  when  they 
smiled  their  sweetest.  He  did  admit  that  he  enjoyed 
life  in  the  new  -employment  as  he  had  never  done 
before?  Why  was  it  ?  Not  because  it  was  easier;  for 
it  was  not.  The  days  were  longer  and  often  hands 
and  brain  were  busy  at  one  and  the  same  time;  yet, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  hours  of  toil  were 
longer,  this  new  life  wore  a  charm  which  no  work  or 
play  had  ever  worn  before.  Sometimes  the  sun  in  the 
morning  will  illuminate  the  mountain  peak  with  a  sil 
very  light  which  seems  unearthly  in  its  brightness  to 
the  traveler,  who  has  set  out  to  reach  the  top  of  that 
peak  before  the  sun  sinks  into  her  burning  bed  in  the 
west.  He  fancies  that  the  rock,  which  glitters  like 
burnished  silver,  cannot  be  the  same  material  over 
which  his  feet  stumble  now,  as  he  looks  at  the  bright 
beauty  and  dazzling  splendor  far  above  him.  When 
at  last  the  traveler  reaches  the  summit,  foot-sore  and 
weary,  and  now  looks  beneath  him  to  the  valley, 
clothed  in  the  mellow  twilight,  and  realizes  that  the 
rock,  which  was  so  beautiful  when  beheld  in  the 
charming  light  of  a  newly  risen  sun,  is  only  common, 
cold,  gray  rock,  he  almost  wishes  that  he  had 
remained  in  the  valley  and  had  not  made  the  toilsome 
journey  to  this,  his  goal.  So  Carrie's  hero,  when  he 
had  seen  others  engaged  in  the  very  work  in  which 
he  was  now  engaged,  whilst  he  then  was  snatching  a 
few  hours  of  instruction  in  the  evening,  had  looked 


110  BURROS  AND  PUEBLOS. 

upon  their  positions  in  life  as  something  far  superior 
to  what  he  could  attain;  but  now  that  he  had  obtained 
a  position  which  those  whom  he  once  considered  for 
tunate  would  have  envied,  he  feared  that  he  would  in 
the  end  feel  like  the  traveler  who  has  gained  the  goal. 
He  feared  that  this  semi-conscious  life  which  he  was 
living  must  in  the  end  awake  in  bitter  disappointments 
and  poignant  sorrow.  Then  he  would  look  back  over 
his  past  life,  which,  though  not  so  broad,  so  rich  in 
opportunities,  would  be  fertile  in  pidlures  which  mem 
ory  would  bathe  in  glories  unseen  whilst  the  pidlures 
had  been  a  reality. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   DIVORCE  AND   HOW  IT   WAS  OBTAINED. 

"  He  counsels  a  divorce:  a  loss  of  her, 
That,  like  a  jewel,  has  hung  twenty  years 
About  his  neck,  yet  never  lost  her  lustre; 
And  she  a  fair  divided 
Of  her  that  loves  him  with  that  excellence 
That  angels  love  good  men  with;  even  of  her 
That  when  the  greatest  stroke  of  fortune  falls, 
Will  bless  the  king." — Shakespeare. 

When  evening  came  and  Minnie  did  not  return,  the 

mother  in  the  little  home  on  Avenue,  was  so 

anxious  about  her  daughter's  absence,  that  she  went 
to  the  neighbor  who  had  brought  her  the  message  con 
cerning  Sharp's  baseness,  wringing  her  hands  and 
weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  After  the 
neighbor  had  carefully  listened  to  the  mother's  recital 
of  how  her  daughter  had  put  on  her  best  dress,  and 
said  she  was  going  down  town,  an  idea  struck  her  at 
once.  "Are  you  sure  she  did  not  go  to  get  married  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Oh  my  daughter  would  not  be  so  base  as  that;  it 
was  only  last  week  that  we  spoke  on  that  subject,  and 
I  told  her  then  that  she  must  wait  at  least  another 
year. ' ' 

"But  that  is  all  the  more  reason  that  she  should  take 
a  direct  cut  to  matrimony  and  be  married  to-day. 
Are  you  sure  that  she  did  not  leave  a  note  for  you?" 

in 


112  A  DIVORCE  AND 

"I  had  not  even  thought  of  looking.  She  could 
not  be  so  unkind  to  her  mother  as  that." 

The  two  women  went  to  Minnie's  home  and  with 
out  spending  much  time  in  searching,  they  found  a 
note  in  Minnie's  jewel  case.  It  contained  a  brief 
statement  of  the  fa<5t  that  she  had  gone  with  Mr. 
Sharp  to  San  Diego,  there  to  become  his  lawful  wife. 
Her  mother  knew  that  they  were  engaged,  and  that 
the  sooner  they  were  married,  the  better  for  them  and 
her. 

When  Mrs.  G.  read  this  note  she  at  once  changed 
her  expressions  of  anxiety  and  grief  into  indignation. 
She  said  her  daughter  should  never  enter  her  house 
again.  But  her  neighbor  at  once  showed  her  the  folly 
of  her  wrath  by  telling  her  that  if  Mr.  Sharp  really 
were  what  she  herself  took  hjm  to  be,  her  daughter 
would  now  need  her  love  and  consolation  more  than 
she  ever  did  before.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  were 
what  her  daughter  thought  him  to  be,  she  would  by 
and  by  overlook  this  unkind  treatment,  in  the  con 
sciousness  that  she  had  done  the  young  folks  wrong  in 
allowing  them  to  associate  until  their  friendship  rip 
ened  into  love,  and  they  were  engaged. 

Mrs.  G.  thought  the  matter  over,  and  saw  the  wis 
dom  of  her  neighbor's  reasoning.  She  slept  little  that 
night,  and  was  all  anxiety  next  day  until  a  hack 
stopped  at  her  front  door  and  her  daughter  and  Mr. 
Sharp  stepped  on  the  pavement.  She  did  not  go  to 
the  front  door  to  meet  her  son-in-law.  When  they 
entered,  her  daughter  came  as  she  had  often  done 


HOW  IT  WAS  OBTAINED.  113 

before.  She  threw  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck; 
then  she  did  what  she  had  seldom  done  before,  she 
burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping.  Sharp  stood 
by,  but  said  not  a  word.  When  Minnie  said,  "Mother, 
oh  mother  !  can  you  ever  forgive  me  and  take  me  to 
your  heart  again  ?"  he  knit  his  brows  and  a  cloud  of 
displeasure  spread  over  his  face.  Then  he  sat  down, 
and  wore  the  air  oi  an  impudent  boy  who  beholds  the 
chastisement  of  his  fellow  in  disobedience,  knowing 
that  his  turn  is  sure  to  come  next. 

Her  mother  was  calm,  though  her  eyes  were  red 
with  weeping.  She  said,  "Minnie,  you  are  my 
daughter  still.  That  man  must  prove  himself  worthy 
of  my  love  and  my  home  before  he  can  stay  in  the 
latter,  or  have  the  former.  I  forgive  you;  but  you 
have  done  me  a  cruel  wrong.  I  do  not  blame  you  as 
much  as  I  do  the  man  who  led  you  astray."  Sharp 
always  feared  Minnie's  mother.  For  the  last  two 
months  he  had  dreaded  meeting  her,  because  he 
thought  he  could  read  in  her  face  that  he  sought  her 
daughter's  ruin  more  than  he  did  her  heart.  His  lips 
moved  nervously  as  he  tried  to  look  the  elder  of  the 
women  he  had  wronged  in  the  face.  Hesitating  a 
moment,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  simply  saying  to 
his  wife  that  he  would  call  later,  he  turned  to  the 
door  and  was  gone. 

In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  of  her  married  life, 
Minnie  learned  that  she  had  broken  the  heart  that  had 
always  been  her  refuge  in  all  her  little  trials.  She 
realized,  too,  that  notwithstanding  she  had  broken  her 


114  A  DIVORCE  AND 

mother's  heart,  her  mother  was  her  "  mother  still,  the 
holiest  thing  on  earth."  Mr.  Sharp  had  changed  his 
entire  demeanor  toward  her.  Twenty-four  hours 
before,  she  believed  that  he  would  lay  down  his  life  for 
her;  now  she  doubted  whether  he  really  and  truly 
loved  her.  His  first  cross  word  had  startled  her,  as 
does  the  crack  of  the  rifle  startle  the  unsuspecting  deer. 
When  subsequently  she  remonstrated  with  him  for  his 
petulance,  he  had  told  her  that  she  was  his  wife  now 
and  she  could  expect  him  to  talk  to  her  in  just  that 
way.  She  did  not  tell  her  mother  this.  She  was 
ashamed  to  say  a  word  of  how  soon  the  suppliant  had 
changed  into  a  dictator.  She  simply  said,  "  Mother, 
if  you  will  not  allow  Mr.  Sharp  to  live  with  me  here, 
I  must  go  to  him.  I  promised  to  love  him  until  death 
does  us  part."  There  was  a  sadness  in  the  young 
wife's  tone  which  a  mother's  heart  alone  could  fully 
interpret.  She  said,  "My  daughter  you  have  made 
your  couch  and  must  lie  upon  it.  I  fear  it  will  not 
give  you  much  rest  or  peace.  Oh!  you  might  have 
been  saved  from  it  all,  if  you  had  not  been  so  hasty, 
so  unadvised,  so  rash.  Go  to  him  until  he  tires  of 
you.  If  he  comes  to  us,  every  unpleasantness  between 
you  will  be  thrown  upon  my  shoulders.  God  knows 
I  have  all  that  I  can  bear  now. ' ' 

That  evening  Sharp  came  and  received  his  wife  at 
the  door.  She  told  him  to  take  her  away,  as  her 
mother  had  commanded.  In  half  an  hour  afterward, 
Sharp  and  his  wife  left  the  house  in  which  they  had 
had  many  pleasant  hours,  the  house  which  Mr.  Sharp 


HOV  IT  WAS  OBTAINED.  115 

never  after  that  entered  with  pleasure.  They  went  to 
"  furnished  rooms,"  that  greatest  enemy  of  home-life, 
that  breeder  of  jealousies,  adulteries,  divorces,  and 
moral  death. 

We  cannot  follow  the  weary  days  of  Minnie's  first 
year  of  her  married  life.  Sharp  never  drank.  He  did 
almost  everything  else  calculated  to  cause  his  wife 
sorrow,  but  drink  he  did  not.  When  their  little  baby 
came,  Minnie  realized  that  there  were  now  two  lives 
to  love'her,  that  of  her  baby  and  her  own  dear  mother, 
who  in  all  Minnie's  sorrow  never  for  a  moment  ceased 
to  sympathize  with  her  and  to  comfort  her. 

Her  husband  made  money,  but  she  had  little  benefit 
of  it.  He  was  miserly  toward  both  his  wife  and  his 
baby.  His  insolence,  his  abuse  of  his  wife  continued 
until  her  blue  eyes  were  faded  and  their  light  extin 
guished  with  their  constant  weeping.  When  she 
could  endure  it  no  longer,  she  packed  her  satchel,  and 
when  her  husband  came  from  the  office  she  said,  "  Mr. 
Sharp,  I  am  going  home  to  mother  for  a  few  days. 
Baby  needs  a  change,  and  a  few  days  absence  may 
cause  you  to  appreciate  us  both  a  little  more."  Before 
he  said  a  word  he  struck  his  wife  a  cruel  slap  on  the 
mouth.  Her  lips  were  cut,  two  teeth  were  loosened, 
and  with  the  blood  oozing  from  her  mouth  she  sank 
into  a  chair.  He  then  began  a  long  and  loud  tirade 
of  how  she  was  never  satisfied  and  always  wanted  to 
be  with  her  mother.  Minnie  did  not  go  to  her  mother 
that  day,  nor  for  several  days  afterward.  She  was 
ashamed  to  go  so  long  as  her  face  bore  the  evidence  of 


Il6  A  DIVORCE  AND 

her  husband's  brutality;  but  when  she  did  go,  she 
went  with  the  resolve  that  she  would  never  return. 
She  told  her  mother  so,  but  did  not  tell  her  half  of 
Sharp's  unkindness  to  her.  Her  mother  said,  "Min 
nie,  we  lived  before  we  knew  Sharp.  I  guess  we  can 
live  now.  This  baby  in  our  home  shall  be  to  us  both 
a  fountain  from  which  to  fill  anew  the  cup  of  our  joy. 
It  is  too  young  to  know  the  floods  of  sorrow  which 
have  rolled  over  our  hearts  before  its  young  life  was 
given.  God  grant  that  it  may  never  lose  itself  m  like 
experiences." 

Three  weeks  passed  before  Sharp  visited  his  wife  or 
sent  her  a  message.  To  say  that  those  were  happy 
weeks  to  Mrs.  Sharp  would  be  an  untruth.  As  the 
waters  will  continue  to  stand  for  months  after  the  flood 
that  brought  them  has  disappeared,  and  the  waters 
receding  into  the  river,  flow  on,  as  the  vegetation  in 
those  bogs  becomes  pale  and  slimy,  and  finally  dies,  so 
often  when  the  tide  of  sorrow  has  spent  its  strongest 
flood  the  results  of  that  sorrow  will  continue  their 
choking  and  killing  influences  until  every  blush  of 
health  fades,  and  every  throb  of  joy  dies  in  the  soul. 
So  day  by  day  Minnie  became  a  little  weaker,  a  little 
sadder.  If  her  mother  had  not  seen  these  signs  of 
waning  life  in  her  daughter,  she  would  have  been 
happy;  because  she  had  found  two  lives  to  cherish. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  week  after  Minnie  had  taken 
her  baby  to  her  mother's  home,  both  of  the  ladies 
were  out  in  the  yard.  They  had  left  the  little  one  in 
its  cradle.  When  they  came  in  they  beheld  the  form 


HOW  IT  WAS  OBTAINED.  117 

of  its  father  kneeling  beside  the  cradle  and  literally 
smothering  the  little  one  with  kisses.  Then  raising 
himself  to  his  knees,  he  cast  a  supplicating  look  at  his 
wife,  and  said,  "  Minnie,  I  can  stand  this  separation 
no  longer.  If  your  mother  will  receive  me  into  her 
home,  she  shall  see  that  I  can  be  to  you  a  husband, 
and  to  her  a  son.  I  realize  that  life  is  too  short  to 
spend  in  such  cruel  separation." 

Mrs.  Sharp  still  loved  her  husband.  With  her  what 
she  loved  had  not  determined  how  she  loved.  In  all 
her  doubting  and  her  anguish  she  had  not  been 
able  to  tear  this,  her  first  and  only  love,  out  of  her 
being.  She  looked  mutely  at  her  mother,  while  great 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  These  tears  seemed  the  over 
flowings  of  the  gladness  of  her  heart.  The  old  light 
was  coming  back  to  her  blue  eyes,  as  the  old  love 
received  the  food  for  which  it  pined. 

Her  mother  had  never  seen  the  man  in  tears  before. 
She  questioned  their  sincerity;  but  finally  her  heart 
got  the  better  of  her  judgment.  She  received  him 
into  her  home,  and  treated  him  as  she  would  have 
treated  her  own  son.  With  his  coming  came  new  life 
to  her  daughter.  The  old  blush  came  back  to  the 
cheek,  and  like  the  halo  to  the  Madonna,  it  hid  the 
crow-feet  that  her  sorrow  had  left.  When  the  baby 
cooed  in  its  father's  arms,  as  he  sat  in  the  easy  chair 
which  had  once  been  the  favorite  seat  of  Minnie's 
father,  a  nobler  and  truer  man  by  far  than  Sharp  ever 
was,  Minnie  was  happy.  She  would  often  turn  to  her 
piano  and  sing  in  tones  not  as  round  and  full  as  when 


Il8  A  DIVORCE  AND 

Sharp  first  visited  her  home,  but  in  tones  that  were 
more  pathetic,  tones  that  brought  with  them  the  feel 
ings  of  the  heart  which  prompted  them,  as  the  zephyr 
brings  the  perfume  of  the  flowers  which  it  has  kissed. 

Oh,  that  those  days  could  have  continued.  But  they 
were  short  lived.  By  and  by  the  old  irritability 
returned  as  the  sirens  of  the  dens  of  infamy  gained 
their  old  hold  on  the  life  that  had  vowed  to  change. 
Mrs.  G.  noticed  the  change.  Minnie  realized  it  in  all 
its  hideousness.  Her  nature  was  extremely  sensitive. 
If  her  heart  would  have  been  joined  with  a  true  life  it 
would  have  enhanced  and  embellished  it  as  the  jewel 
beautifies  and  increases  the  value  of  the  ring  in  which 
it  sparkles.  Strange  that  the  God  of  nature  should 
allow  so  much  of  the  sweetness  of  heaven  to  dissipate 
in  this  world  so  hideous  with  the  effects  of  sin. 

When  the  impudence  and  the  manifest  impurity  of 
Sharp's  life  threatened  the  peace  and  safety  of  her 
home,  Mrs.  G.  promptly  told  him  that  he  must  go. 
He  had  not  realized  that  this  wroman  knew  him  better 
than  he  knew  himself.  He  apologized  for  his  angry 
fits  and  abusive  language,  and  flatly  denied  his  impure 
life.  She  gave  him  one  more  trial.  That  was  his 
last.  It  might  have  terminated  fatally  to  all  of  them. 
One  evening  he  brought  home  a  cake,  with  some  other 
edibles  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  furnishing,  when 
he  was  rid  of  the  evil  spirit  that  seemed  to  have  pos 
sessed  him  for  years  already.  The  cake  was  eaten 
that  evening.  Sharp  himself  cut  it.  He  and  all 
except  the  baby  ate  of  it.  He  wished  the  baby  to 


HOW  IT.  WAS  OBTAINED.  1 19 

have  some  of  it;  but  the  mother  protested,  and  so  it 
was  spared.  The  ladies  both  thought  that  the  cake 
tasted  bitter.  Mr.  Sharp  said,  it  was  only  the  usual 
fault-finding  spirit  with  what  he  did,  that  made  them 
think  the  cake  was  bitter.  His  piece  did  not  taste 
bitter.  He  was  right  in  his  assertion.  His  piece  did 
not  taste  bitter. 

In  an  hour  after  the  cake  was  eaten  the  ladies  were 
both  in  great  pain.  Sharp  had  gone  away  imme 
diately  after  his  dinner.  The  neighbor  to  whom  we 
have  already  alluded  in  these  two  chapters  of  Sharp's 
biography,  heard  their  moans,  and  came  to  see  what 
was  wrong.  She  saw  in  an  instant  that  something 
unusual  had  occurred.  In  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  more 
a  doctor  was  there,  and  administered  the  usual  antidote 
for  strychnine  poisoning.  He  said  a  delay  of  fifteen 
minutes  more  would  have  put  the  ladies  beyond  all 
reach  of  human  help  or  the  need  of  it.  Sharp  came 
home  at  ten  o'clock,  nervous  and  excited.  When  he 
was  told  of  what  had  occurred,  he  said  that  accounted 
for  his  own  feelings,  and  so  it  did;  but  not  in  the  way 
he  tried  to  make  those  believe  who  had  saved  the  life 
of  the  woman  he  had  sworn  to  love,  and  her  mother, 
whom  he  had  promised  to  treat  as  a  dutiful  son  would 
treat  her. 

Many  days  intervened  before  his  wife,  who  received 
the  biggest  dose  of  the  poison,  as  he  had  meant  she 
should,  was  able  to  leave  her  bed.  Her  mother  recov 
ered  more  rapidly.  Nothing  was  said  by  the  two 
wromen  to  each  other  of  their  suspicions,  until  the 


120  A  DIVORCE  AND 

younger  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  attend  to  her 
child.  Sharp  still  lived  in  the  house,  but  he  seemed 
more  sinister  and  morose  than  ever.  There  were 
whole  nights  that  he  did  not  come  home.  He  said 
business  kept  him  away.  So  it  did,  but  it  was  the 
business  to  which  human  passions,  and  superhuman 
fiends  lead  men  that  are  willing  to  be  led. 

When  the  mother  told  her  suspicions  to  her  daugh 
ter,  she  answered  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief  that  was 
heart-rending  to  behold.  She  confessed,  after  she 
could  compose  herself  sufficiently,  that  she  believed  her 
mother's  suspicions  correct.  They  agreed  that  for  the 
sake  of  their  child  they  would  let  the  fiend  go 
unpunished.  At  the  same  time  they  felt  that  hence 
forth  Sharp  must  be  banished  from  their  home  and 
their  life. 

The  elder  of  the  women  begged  to  have  the  respon 
sibility  of  dealing  with  the  fiend  in  human  form. 
When  he  came  home  she  confronted  him  with  the 
charge  of  trying  to  poison  his  family  with  strychnine. 
She  used  the  strategy  that  a  man  as  sinful  as  Sharp 
should  have  perceived,  and  outwitted.  She  told  him 
she  knew  that  one  of  his  sirens  down  town  had  baked 
that  cake,  and  that  he  knew  all  about  the  deadly  dose 
it  contained.  She  could  prove  all  she  said.  She  had 
thought  of  the  advisability  of  having  him  arrrested; 
but  on  one  condition  she  would  leave  him  to  God,  who 
in  due  time  would  make  instruments  to  scourge  him 
out  of  the  very  vices  which  were  now  so  pleasant  to 
him.  The  condition  upon  which  she  promised  to  keep 


HOW  If  W AS  OBTAINED.  121 

his  crime  a  secret,  seemed  very  easy  to  Sharp  to  be 
complied  with.  It  was  that  he  not  only  leave  them  all 
forever;  but  that  he  at  once  apply  for  a  divorce.  She 
said  they  would  be  willing  to  grant  him  the  glory  of 
seeming,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  the  offended  party. 

During  this  speech  of  Mrs.  G's,  Sharp's  color 
changed  from  its  natural  tan  to  livid  white,  then  to 
scarlet.  When  she  finished  it  had  come  back  to  its 
normal  brown  and  tan.  He  admitted  that  some  women 
had  a  way  of  finding  out  things  that  ' '  got  ahead  of 
him."  He  could  easily  leave,  if  that  would  please  her 
and  her  daughter,  and  the  question  of  a  divorce  could 
easily  be  disposed  of. 

So  kind  reader,  we  will  leave  Minnie  with  her 
mother  to  comfort  and  strengthen  her — with  her  baby 
to  heal  her  broken  heart  with  its  innocent  and  pure  af 
fection.  We  will  hear  of  them  again;  but  for  the 
present  we  drop  the  curtain  over  a  scene  sp  full  of 
blasted  hopes,  so  dark  with  sinister  crime. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

' '  Where  we  love  really,  we  often  dread  more  than  we  desire 
the  solemn  moment  that  exchanges  hope  for  certainty. ' ' 

— Madame  de  Stael. 

The  same  day  that  Carrie's  hero  started  for  Santa 
Fe,  Dr.  Burns  left  Colorado  Springs  for  "a  few  days 
outing "  as  he  had  told  the  young  man  who  was  to 
look  after  his  practice  during  the  doctor's  absence.  In 
fact  the  same  train  which  took  Carrie's  hero  on  his 
way  to  Santa  Fe  also  brought  Dr.  Burns  to  the  little 
station  with  which  we  have  become  familiar.  The 
book-keeper  did  not  see  him  step  out  of  the  palace-car 
as  he  himself  went  into  the  smoker;  but  Sambo  who 
had  .  brought  the  book-keeper  also  saw  the  doctor 
alight  from  the  train.  He  had  been  expecting  the 
doctor,  because  Carrie  had  told  him  that  he  was  com 
ing,  and  would  wish  to  ride  home  with  him. 

When  the  doctor  saw  who  was  to  take  him  to  the 
stone  house  he  felt  glad;  because  he  preferred  to  ride 
with  the  little  colored  boy  rather  than  with  Jim  who, 
we  will  remember,  had  been  the  book-keeper's  nurse. 
In  fact  the  doctor  was  glad  that  Sambo  had  come 
rather  than  Carrie  herself.  He  flattered  himself  that 
he  would  learn  more  concerning  Carrie  than  if  he 
would  be  riding  beside  her.  He  would  ask  the  little 


DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION.  133 

darkie  questions  about  the  young  lady,  that  he  would 
not  dare  to  ask  her.  As  soon  as  they  had  left  the  lit 
tle  station,  the  doctor  slipped  a  bright  new  fifty-cent 
piece  into  Sambo's  hand,  at  the  same  time  saying: 
"  Sambo,  I  would  rather  ride  with  you  this  morning, 
than  with  a  millionaire.  You  have  not  told  me  how 
the  folks  at  the  house  are  getting  along.  Are  they  all 
well  ?  Is  Miss  Carrie  expecting  me  ?  ' ' 

All  these  questions  were  asked  in  one  breath  with 
out  giving  Sambo  a  chance  to  reply.  As  soon  as  he 
could  he  said,  "Yes  sa,  Miss  Carrie  am  expecting 
you,  and  the  folks  am  all  well.  Carrie,  she  say  to  me, 
says  she,  when  I  left  with  her  hero  " — "  Who  is  the 
hero  ?  ' '  interrupted  the  doctor.  ' '  De  hero  ?  Don 
you  know  who  am  de  hero,  Massa  Doctor  ?  De  hero 
am  de  man  what  was  so  pow'ful  sick  after  holden  dem 
mustangs.  Well,  Miss  Carrie,  she  say  to  me,  says 
she,  '  Sambo  if  Doctor  Burns  am  at  de  station,  you 
bring  him  up  wid  you.  I's  expecten  him.' ' 

The  doctor  smiled  a  little  smile  of  satisfaction.  He 
next  asked,  "The  clerk  has  not  gone  away  to  stay, 
has  he  ?  " 

"  Now  who  am  de  clerk,  Massa  Doctor?  " 

"  Why  the  man  who  was  so  powerful  sick,  as  you 
just  now  said." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  de  Miss's  hero.  He  am  no  clerk. 
No  he's  a  comen  back  in  a  foo  days.  Because  I  hear 
Massa  Dives  say  to  de  man,  '  Now  young  man,  buy 
good  ones,'  Carrie  she  say,  '  One  good  ting  the  Doc- 


124  DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

tor  come  whilst  my  hero  am  away,  he  can  oc'py  de 
hero's  room.'  " 

The  doctor  bit  his  lip  at  this  remark,  and  a  cloud 
passed  over  his  face;  but  he  made  no  reply.  After  a 
moment's  silence,  he  began  again.  "  I  guess  Miss 
Carrie  thinks  a  great  deal  of  her  clerk.  Do  they  go 
out  riding  together,  and  has  he  time  to  play  tennis 
with  her,  now  that  spring  has  come?  " 

"You  mean  Carrie's  hero?  Yes,  they  go  out  a 
heap.  Carrie  and  de  hero  shoot  mark.  Miss  Carrie 
can  shoot  most  as  good  as  de  hero.  Dey  learn  las  win 
ter  when  it  was  too  cold  to  go  off  in  de  team.  Now 
since  de  warm  am  come  de  hero  am  powerful  busy  for 
Mr.  Dives.  He  rides  out  with  Mr.  Dives  to  see  the 
cattle,  and  he  pays  the  men  and  he  goes  with  us  to 
the  station,"  continued  Sambo  in  his  darkie  dialect, 
which  we  will  not  attempt  to  imitate.  "  In  fac  he  am 
de  busiest  man  around  de  diggins,  I  heerd  Mr.  Dives 
say  to  Miss  Carrie,  '  It  seems  I  couldn't  get  along 
any  more  on  dis  here  ranch  ef  I  hadn't  dat  young 
man.  '  " 

It  soon  became  evident  to  the  doctor  that  the  clerk 
or  whatever  Carrie  might  choose  to  call  her  father's 
help,  had  in  Sambo  a  staunch  friend.  He  lapsed  into 
quiet  which  was  seldom  interrupted  until  the  stone 
house  came  in  sight.  Then  Sambo  said,  "  There  am 
Misses  on  de  piazza,  a  looken  for  you,  Massa  doctor." 

Sure  enough  there  stood  the  neat,  prim  little  form 
of  Carrie  Dives  on  the  porch,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  doctor  and  Sambo 


DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION.  125 

as  they  approached  the  house.  When  they  came 
nearer,  Carrie  disappeared.  As  they  drew  up  to  the 
porch,  Mr.  Dives  stepped  out  of  the  house,  and 
grasped  the  doctor  warmly  by  the  hand  and  invited 
him  into  the  spacious  parlor.  Soon  Miss  Carrie  came 
in.  She  expressed  her  pleasure  at  seeing  the  doctor, 
and  when  he  extended  his  hand  she  gave  it  a  hearty 
shake,  even  as  her  father  had  done  before.  At  the 
same  time  that  she  extended  her  soft  brown  little 
hand,  she  fixed  her  bright  blue  eyes  fully  upon  his 
face  as  if  to  read  the  inmost  feelings  of  his  soul. 
Sambo's  mother  announced  that  lunch  was  ready,  and 
they  went  to  the  dining-room;  Carrie  herself  waited  on 
the  table.  The  Dives  had  only  one  domestic  in  the 
kitchen.  This  as  we  have  already  intimated,  was 
Sambo's  own  mother.  She  and  her  child  had  come  to 
Kansas  in  the  Exodus  of  which  our  reader  knows. 
They  were  poor  as  most  of  the  negroes  were  who 
thought  to  find  in  Kansas,  "  de  promised  land." 
After  much  suffering  she,  like  many  others,  decided 
to  return  to  the  sunny  South.  She  had  no  money  to 
buy  a  rail- road  ticket,  so  she  resolved  to  walk.  She 
had  gotten  as  far  as  Kansas  City  where  Mr.  Dives  who 
was  then  on  his  way  to  the  West  from  New  York  City, 
met  her  on  the  street  begging  a  morsel  of  bread  for 
herself  and  starving  child.  Mr.  Dives  pitied  her,  and 
on  consulting  his  wife,  he  took  her  with  him  to  the 
home  in  Colorado.  The  poor  creature  was  only  too 
glad  to  go.  She  had  no  friend  in  the  world,  so  this 
meeting  with  the  Dives  seemed  a  hand  sent  from 


126  DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

Heaven  to  guide  her  to  a  place  of  rest.  She  had  been 
a  nurse  in  her  girl-hood  to  the  daughter  of  a  rich 
planter,  and  she  had  taught  her  to  read  and  study  her 
Bible.  Hannah  as  she  was  called,  was  a  faithful  ser 
vant,  both  during  Mrs.  Dives'  life  in  the  West,  and 
since. 

Sambo  had  been  a  poor,  thin,  sickly  boy  when  he 
first  came  to  Colorado;  but  good,  wholesome  food  had 
brought  him  out.  He  was  now  a  strong,  healthy  lad 
about  fifteen  years  of  age.  He  became  more  useful  as 
a  man  of  all  work  each  day. 

Carrie's  mother  had  died  when  her  only  child  was 
but  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  ever  since  her  death 
(which  occurred  six  years  before  Dr.  Burns  learned  to 
know  her)  Carrie  had  been  her  father's  chief  comfort 
and  joy.  It  was  now  seven  years  since  the  Dives  had 
moved  to  Colorado.  They  had  come  because  of  Mr. 
Dives'  health.  He  had  suffered  from  acute  bronchitis 
for  several  years  and  as  a  last  attempt  to  save  his  life, 
the  dodlor  told  him  to  go  to  Colorado.  He  recovered 
his  health.  His  wife  on  the  other  hand,  died  quite 
unexpectedly  the  first  year  they  were  in  the  West. 

With  Mr.  Dives'  return  of  health,  fortune  began  to 
smile  upon  him  again.  He  added  a  little  to  his  earthly 
goods  every  year.  He  was  not  a  millionaire;  but  he 
was  rich  enough  to  cease  all  work  and  live  on  his  in 
vestments,  had  he  chosen  so  to  do.  Carrie  was  never 
sent  away  to  school.  She  had  laid  the  foundations  of 
an  education  before  she  left  New  York.  A  year  after 
her  mother's  death  Mr.  Dives  had  engaged  the  ser- 


DR.  BURNS    POPS  THE  QUESTION.  127 

vices  of  a  young  Vassar  graduate,  whom  lung  trouble 
drove  to  Colorado,  and  who  was  only  too  glad  to  have 
a  place  in  the  genial  family  which  dwelt  in  the  stone 
house.  Carrie  had  the  instruction  of  this  accomplished 
girl  for  more  than  two  years,  and  was  a  well  educated 
young  woman.  Carrie  was  her  father's  only  heir.  He 
used  to  say  that  Sambo  and  Carrie  were  his  heirs.  He 
thought  much  of  the  young  colored  lad  and  would  no 
doubt  have  remembered  him  in  his  will  had  not  events 
come  to  pass,  to  which  we  will  refer  in  due  time. 

After  luncheon  Miss  Carrie  pertly  told  the  doctor 
that  her  father  had  some  business  on  the  ranch,  and 
that  inasmuch  as  he  had  no  doubt  come  for  an  outing, 
he  would  probably  consider  it  a  pleasure  to  accompany 
him.  There  was  nothing  else  for  the  doctor  to  do  but  to 
accompany  him.  The  doctor  was  a  good  horse- back 
rider.  He  had  come  to  the  West  six  years  before, 
from  a  city  in  Pennsylvania,  on  account  of  lung  trou 
ble.  He  soon  became  better,  read  medicine  for  a  year 
with  a  friend  of  his  father  who  lived  in  Colorado 
Springs,  and  then  went  to  the  University  of  Pennsyl 
vania  to  finish  his  medical  education.  The  afternoon 
was  pleasant  and  the  two  men  had  a  good  time  together. 

The  next  day  the  doctor  and  Sambo  went  hunting, 
but  they  met  with  poor  success,  and  Carrie  teasingly 
told  them  that  it  was  because  they  could  not  shoot 
well  enough.  They  had  better  try  to  shoot  mark. 
This  they  did,  and  the  girl  hit  the  target  quite  as  often 
as  either  of  them.  We  relate  this  to  show  how  the 
doctor  spent  most  of  his  visit.  Sambo  went  with  him 


128  DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

and  Carrie  wherever  they  went.  He  was  now  fifteen 
years  old,  strong  and  full  of  life.  He  was  Carrie's 
servant.  He  seemed  to  bear  the  same  relation  to  the 
girl,  that  a  great  St.  Bernard  bears  to  his  master.  It 
mattered  nothing  to  him  who  accompanied  Carrie,  or 
upon  whom  she  smiled;  but  it  did  matter  to  him  to 
know  that  she  was  happy.  Carrie  on  the  other  hand 
knew  that  Sambo  was  a  true  friend  of  hers.  She  did 
toward  him  as  she  would  like  to  have  been  done  by 
him  had  she  been  the  woolly  headed  son  of  Ham  in 
stead  of  the  heiress  of  Mr.  Dives.  Of  couse  the  par 
lor  was  a  place  Sambo  never  entered  except  to  help  his 
mother  to  sweep  it.  He  was  not  prohibited  from  go 
ing  there.  Neither  Carrie  nor  her  father  had  ever 
told  him  not  to  enter;  but  his  mother  had.  She  had 
told  himnever  to  enter  that  room  unless  he  was  asked. 

It  was  in  the  parlor  therefore,  that  the  doctor  had 
Carrie  to  himself  when  her  father  was  not  there.  Car 
rie  was  a  good  performer  on  the  piano  and  sang 
sweetly.  For  this  reason  her  father  loved  to  sit  in  the 
parlor  where  he  could  hear  and  see  her.  Every  even 
ing  promptly  at  nine  whether  the  doctor  was  there  or 
not,  Mr.  Dives  would  leave  the  room.  Carrie  herself 
knew  that  it  would  displease  her  father  if  she  would 
not  retire  at  ten;  promptly  at  that  hour  therefore,  she 
would  call  Sambo  and  he  would  show  the  doctor  to  his 
or  rather,  "  the  hero's  room." 

Dr.  Burns  had  been  a  student  with  the  very  physi 
cian  who  attended  Mrs.  Dives  in  her  last  illness. 


DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION.  129 

When  Dr.  Burns  graduated  at  the  University  he  was 
ready  to  take  a  place  in  the  east;  but  he  had  been 
summoned  by  his  old  preceptor  to  relieve  him.  He 
did  so,  and  that  for  all  time;  for  the  old  doctor,  soon 
after  Burns  came,  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil.  It 
was  natural  that  Mr.  Dives  should  have  sent  for  the 
successor  of  their  old  family  physician,  when  the 
"  hero  "  was  brought  unconcious  to  his  home. 

Dr.  Burns  had  been  to  the  Dives'  home  since  "  the 
clerk,"  as  he  called  our  friend,  had  not  taken  his 
advice  and  sought  another  climate.  The  few  times 
that  the  doctor  had  visited  the  Dives  since  the  "  clerk  " 
was  well,  he  had  treated  the  latter  with  courtesy.  He 
felt  that  this  was  policy.  So  long  as  he  knew,  or 
thought  he  knew  that  Carrie  did  not  love  "  the  clerk," 
so  long  it  was  all  right,  but  if  he  were  convinced  that 
this  charming  girl  would  marry  "  the  clerk,"  he  felt 
that  he  could  never  forgive  him.  There  was  no  girl 
east  or  west  that  could  ever  take  Carrie's  place  in  this 
doctor's  heart,  so  at  least  he  tried  to  persuade  himself. 

Dr.  Burns,  let  it  be  added,  was  not  a  bad  man.  He 
had  a  good  heart,  and  led  a  pure  life.  He  had  never 
done  anything  that  made  him  ashamed  to  look  his  fel 
low-man  in  the  face;  but  we  must  confess  that  he 
was  jealous  of  the  "clerk."  Of  all  passions,  it  has 
been  well  said,  "jealousy  is  that  which  exacts  the 
hardest  service."  The  doctor  had  found  it  so  already. 
Would  he  also  learn  that  ' '  it  pays  the  bitterest 
wages  ? ' ' 


130  DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

The  third  and  last  evening  of  Dr.  Burns'  visit  had 
come.  He  had  told  Carrie  and  her  father  at  the  dinner 
table  that  evening,  that  he  would  be  compelled  to 
return  early  the  next  norning.  His  practice  would 
not  allow  him  to  remain  away  another  day,  however 
agreeable  it  might  be  to  go  with  Mr.  Dives  to  the  far 
thermost  part  of  the  ranch,  to  which  that  gentleman  in 
vited  him.  That  evening, as  usual, Mr. Dives  promptly  at 
nine  left  the  parlor.  Dr.  Burns,  soon  after  the  old  gen 
tleman  left  the  room,  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  piano 
stool  upon  which  Carrie  was  still  sitting.  The  music 
had  ceased,  and  Dr.  Burns  in  low  tones  was  telling  her 
of  some  improvements  he  had  made  in  his  office,  and 
how  he  intended  to  buy  the  house  of  his  now  deceased 
preceptor's  wife.  The  youngest  son  would  be  of  age 
in  a  few  months,  and  then,  according  to  the  pro 
visions  of  the  will,  the  house  would  be  sold.  He  told 
the  girl  that  with  a  few  changes  the  house  would 
make  a  home  as  he  wished.  He  noticed  that  she  was 
interested  in  what  he  was  saying.  As  he  continued 
in  the  description  of  the  proposed  changes,  Carrie 
thoughtlessly  put  her  hand  upon  the  keys  of  the 
piano.  The  Doctor  gently  took  the  little  brown  hand 
in  his,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  it.  He  continued 
his  conversation  descriptive  of  the  house  as  it  would 
appear  after  the  changes.  Finally  he  said:  "Then, 
when  it  is  all  finished,  I  would  be  supremely  happy,  if 
the  little  queen  I  have  loved  ever  since  I  have  known 
her,  would  consent  to  be  enthroned  there. ' ' 


DR.  BURNS    POPS  THE  QUESTION.  131 

Carrie  said,  but  not  with  her  usual  animation: 
"  And  who,  Doctor,  is  this  little  queen,  as  you  call 
her?" 

The  doctor  was  about  to  reply,  when  there  was  a 
noise  of  someone  in  the  room  adjoining,  and  in  a 
moment  afterwards,  Carrie's  father's  voice  was  heard. 
He  said,  "  Child,  dear,  had  you  not  better  retire,  or 
the  doctor  will  miss  the  train  in  the  morning." 

The  charm  was  broken. .  Carrie  instantly  said, 
"  Yes,  papa."  The  doctor  looked  at  the  hands  of  the 
clock,  and  saw  that  it  was  exactly  half  past  ten.  In  a 
moment  the  queen  he  had  hoped  to  enthrone,  had 
quietly  said,  "  good  night,"  and  had  not  returned  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  as  she  gently  withdrew  hers  from 
the  doctor's  grasp  and  was  gone. 

The  doctor  that  night  debated  long  and  anxiously 
whether  he  should  think  that  the  girl  so  dear  to  him, 
loved  him  or  not.  If  she  did  she  certainly  was  wise 
enough  to  conceal  her  feelings  until  she  had  more 
thoroughly  studied  him.  What  else  meant  her  keen 
eyes,  which  to  her  must  be  a  very  search-light,  with 
which  she  read  the  deepest  ocean  of  his  affection  ? 
Once  he  thought  he  would  insist  on  deciding  his  fate 
in  the  morning  before  he  left  the  house.  Then  again 
he  thought  he  would  write  to  her  immediately  on  his 
arrival  at  home.  Finally  he  concluded  that  the  girl 
knew  the  inmost  feelings  of  his  heart.  He  would  give 
her  time  to  know  her  own. 

The  next  morning  at  six,  Sambo  took  the  doctor  to 
the  train.  The  last  he  saw  of  Carrie  on  that  visit,  was 


132  DR.  BURNS  POPS  THE  QUESTION. 

when  she  appeared  on  the  piazza,  when  Sambo  was 
already  whirling  him  toward  the  station.  She  was  clad 
in  a  pink  wrapper  and  looked  very  sweet.  She  waved 
the  doctor  good-by  and  smiled  one  of  her  sweet  smiles. 
She  had  evidently  over-slept  herself.  Perhaps  she  had 
lain  awake  half  the  night  thinking  of  what  the  doctor 
had  told  her.  So  the  doctor  reasoned.  Perhaps  he  was 
right,  who  knows? 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

"  Women  with  a  mischief  to  their  kind, 
Pervert,  with  bad  advice,  our  better  mind. 
A  woman's  counsel  brought  us  first  to  woe, 
And  made  her  man  his  paradise  forego 
Where  at  heart's  ease  he  lived;  and  might  have  been 
As  free  from  sorrow  as  he  was  from  sin." — Dryden. 

The  time  has  come  when  a  fuller  introduction  of 
Miss  Octavia  Newman  to  our  readers  is  necessary.  We 
have  visited  her  childhood  home.  We  have  learned 
something  of  her  parentage,  and  in  so  doing  we  have 
become  acquainted  with  two  of  the  most  potent  forces 
that  enter  a  human  life.  The  childhood  home  well 
described,  gives  us  an  infallible  knowledge  of  the  time 
and  country  in  which  a  man  lives.  It  is  the  window 
through  which  comes  the  most  light  upon  the  char 
acter  we  are  studying,  and  out  of  which  we  look  to  see 
the  world  around.  The  scope  of  this  story  will  not 
allow  us  to  study  minutely  the  family  history  of 
Octavia' s  father.  He  alone  is  the  character  in  this 
little  knot  of  lives  which  for  a  time  clustered  around 
the  Nieman  home,  concerning  whom  we  must  be  con 
tent  to  know  least.  Some  of  those  forces  which  exhib 
ited  themselves  in  the  actions  and  speech  of  Octavia 
must  have  had  their  origin  in  the  ancestry  of  her 


134  MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

father;  because  we  do  not  find  the  evidence  of  their 
existence  in  her  mother. 

The  world  has  made  wonderful  progress  in  scientific 
development;  but  after  all  we  know  very  little  about 
ourselves.  There  never  was  an  age  in  which  it  was 
truer  that  "The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man," 
than  in  the  age  in  which  we  are  now  living.  It  seems 
strange  that  after  learning  so  much  about  everything 
else,  we  should  know  so  little  about  ourselves.  Per 
haps  it  is  because  we  have  left  to  us  all  eternity 
to  know  ourselves,  that  we  pay  so  little  attention  to 
the  subject  in  this  life.  The  palmist  says,  he  can 
prognosticate  the  destiny  of  a  man  through  all  his 
earthly  lift,  and  consequently  how  he  will  begin  eter 
nity,  by  simply  studying  the  lines  in  his  hands.  He 
professes  to  be  able  to  do  this  before  the  experience  of 
years  has  left  the  record  of  a  life  in  those  mysterious 
tablets.  It  is  true,  he  says,  the  character  is  best  read 
after  the  palm  is  well  written  over  with  the  experience 
of  years.  Then,  too,  the  phrenologist  claims  to  tell  the 
strength  of  the  body,  and  the  characteristics  of  the 
soul,  from  the  little  prominences  on  the  skull.  His 
science,  too,  to  say  the  least,  is  wonderful.  All  of  this 
does  not  take  away  the  mystery  that  surrounds  every 
earthly  life.  It  rather  deepens  it.  How  came  those 
lines  in  the  hand  ?  How  happens  it  that  the  lines  in 
my  hand  are  not  precisely  the  same  as  in  yours  or  my 
father's?  Why  are  there  characteristics  in  my  life 
which  were  never  seen  in  the  life  of  my  parents  ? 
Why  must  the  student  of  your  biography  go  back  two, 


MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA.  135 

three  generations,  to  find  that  in  your  ancestry  which 
is  so  prominent  in  you  ?  Why  must  the  physician 
assign  the  cause  of  certain  physical  weaknesses  in  you 
to  the  life  habits  of  your  ancestry  in  the  third  and 
fourth  generation?  If  you  will  answer  me  these  ques 
tions,  kind  reader,  then  I  will  tell  you  why  there  were 
at  work  in  the  child-life  of  '  'Octavia  Newman,  M.  D.," 
those  forces  which  distinguished  her  ffom  the  rest  of 
her  family.  We  will  admit  that  if  she  would  have 
tried  to  curb  those  disreputable  qualities  in  her  being, 
she  might  have,  by  and  by,  regulated  them  and  eaten 
some  of  life's  most  luscious  fruits  from  them.  We 
admit  that  s>he  might  have  regulated  those  wild  im 
pulses  and  head-strong  desires  by  j  udiciously  watching 
herself,  even  as, the  rider  regulates  the  untamed  steed 
by  the  bit,  and  by  properly  watching  it.  This  she 
might  have  done,  and  right  here  her  moral  responsi 
bility  came  in,  and  right  here  it  comes  into  every  life. 
One  of  the  distinguishing  traits  of  Octavia' s  charac 
ter  was  her  ambition.  Ambition  is  a  noble  faculty  of 
the  soul,  when  properly  accompanied.  Its  Latin 
derivation  gives  it  its  true  meaning.  It  is  "  the  act  of 
going  about"  in  life,  or  if  not  the  act,  at  least  the 
motive  power.  Take  it  out  of  our  being  and  you 
take  the  wheels  from  the  vehicle,  and  the  force  which 
draws  them.  The  evil  in  Octavia's  nature,  therefore, 
did  not  lie  in  the  fact  that  she  had  ambition,  but  that 
she  had  an  enormous,  a  real  Napoleonic  ambition,  with 
out  the  other  qualities  of  head  and  heart  which  are  so 


136  MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

essential  to  the  true  man  or  woman.  She  had  one  of 
those  unholy  ambitions,  which,  like  Milton's  Satan, 
caused  her  to  adl  as  if  she  thought  that  it  was 

"  Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  to  serve  in  heaven." 

Another  characteristic  of  Octavia  was  her  pride. 
Pride  is  always  the  companion  of  ambition.  It  is  not 
the  born  companion  of  the  latter;  but  it  is  the  compan 
ion  who  seeks  and  wins  and  weds  an  ambition  when  it 
once  becomes  a  monstrosity  among  the  faculties  of  the 
soul,  and  a  monstrosity  in  Odlavia's  soul  her  ambition 
had  become  when  we  first  saw  her  in  her  matured,  her 
professional  life.  The  man  or  woman  without  a  law 
ful  pride  is  in  danger  of  the  same  follies  which  threaten 
the  one  who  has  left  this  monster ,  to  swallow  all  his 
other  qualities.  In  Octavia  pride  was  as  manifest  as 
the  peacock's  tail  is  manifest  in  that  fowl's  make-up. 
You  could  not  be  in  her  society  a  day  without  seeing 
that  ambition  and  pride  were  the  two  ruling  powers  in 
her  soul.  Her  pride  and  her  ambition  should  have 
borne  her  above  some  sins  and  follies  which  thwarted 
the  attainment  of  the  objects  that  pride  and  ambition 
when  firmly  wedded  generally  attain. 

We  have  said  that  pride  and  the  lack  of  it,  bring  the 
soul  to  commit  one  and  the  same  follies.  In 
Octavia's  experience  we  have  seen  this  illustrated 
already.  Had  she  not  been  so  intensely  proud,  she 
would  have  married  Peter  True,  and  so  far  as  human 
judgment  can  see,  she  would  have  been  a  happy  wife, 


MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA.  137 

and,  although  left  in  an  early  widowhood,  she  would 
have  been  able  to  live  a  useful  and  comfortable  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  she  would  not  have  had  some 
pride,  Peter  True  would  not  have  cared  for  her  any 
more  than  he  cared  for  the  score  of  girls  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  It  was  Odlavia's  haughty  spirit  that  drew 
Peter  True,  as  the  light  draws  the  ignorant  moths, 
and  it  was  that  same  pride  which  seared  his  heart  and 
made  it  incapable  of  seeking  the  love  of  another 
woman.  A  reasonable  amount  of  pride  will  keep  the 
hands  clean  and  the  face  sweet,  but  the  excess  of 
pride  will  always  thirst  after  the  unattainable,  and 
when  once  convinced  that  it  is  unattainable,  it  will 
cause  the  vidlim  to  descend  into  an  apathy  that  shows 
its  physical  as  well  as  moral  effedl.  We  do  not  say 
that  we  will  find  it  so  in  Odlavia's  case;  but  who  can 
tell? 

That  which  made  ambition  and  pride  such  dangerous 
companions  in  Odlavia's  soul,  was  the  fadl  that  they 
had  at  least  nursed,  if  not  begotten  offspring  even 
more  hurtful.  She  had  shown  her  selfish  disposition 
in  her  childhood.  It  grew  with  her  years.  Her 
mother,  her  teachers  had  endeavored  to  curb  it,  but  in 
vain.  Her  education  at  the  hospital  had  brought  her 
face  to  face  with  human  suffering,  and  should  have 
developed  that  sympathy  which  distinguishes  man 
from  the  brute,  and  which  does  so  much  to  sweeten  the 
bitter  potions  which  life  presses  to  every  pair  of  human 
lips.  But  it  did  not.  She  might  well  have  summed 


138  MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

up  the  condition  of  her  own  disposition  in  the  lines  of 
the  poet  Sheridan,  when  he  says: 

"  I  never  could  any  lustre  see 
In  eyes  that  would  not  look  on  me; 
I  never  saw  nedtar  on  a  lip 
But  where  my  own  did  hope  to  sip. ' ' 

Another  dangerous  offspring  these  two,  ambition 
and  pride,  nursed  in  Octavia's  soul,  was  her  heartless- 
ness.  We  have  seen  in  her  relations  with  her  own 
mother,  as  well  as  in  her  conduct  toward  poor  Peter 
True,  that  the  girl  had  no  heart.  We  have  seen  it 
again  on  the  mountain-side,  when  she  so  unexpectedly 
sees  the  knife  with  the  initials  "  N.  N."  upon  it,  and 
reads  in  the  countenance  of  the  man  who  possesses  it 
her  own  family  lineage.  The  pride  which  keeps  her 
from  allowing  herself  to  associate  with  a  muleteer,  even 
sufficiently  to  know  whether  her  suspicions  are  cor 
rect  or  not, — the  pride  which  keeps  her  from  finding 
out  whether  this  man  is  not  her  supposed  dead 
brother,  for  fear  the  Dives  would  find  it  out,  should 
he  be  her  brother,  that  pride  causes  her  to  exhibit  a 
heartlessness  which  must  bring  every  one  who  learns 
to  know  her,  to  despise  her.  What  could  be  more 
cruel  than  for  a  daughter  to  refuse  to  staunch  the 
bleeding  heart  of  a  fond,  true  mother,  simply  because 
her  own  selfish  ends  might  be  thwarted  thereby? 
After  this  insight  into  Octavia's  character  we  need  not 
remind  our  readers  that  she  was  not  well  balanced. 
All  the  nobler  qualities  of  her  soul  had  thrown  the 
reins  to  these  dangerous  powers,  which  like  unre- 


MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA.  139 

strained  steeds  were  bearing  her  on  a  journey  which 
might  well  cause  us  to  close  our  eyes,  so  as  not  to  see 
the  fearful  destination.  Good  common  sense  would 
have  redeemed  her  nobler  soul  powers  and  would  have 
sanctified  her  ambition  and  curbed  her  pride;  but  good 
common  sense  was  something  in  which  Octavia  was 
lacking.  If  that  judge  had  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of 
her  soul,  he  had  forsaken  his  seat  long  before  we  met 
her  in  the  Sierras.  We  shall  see  whether  the  future 
reveals  anything  that  will  cause  us  to  reverse  our 
judgment  of  "  Octavia  Newman,  M.  D."  We  have 
spent  all  this  time  in  analyzing  the  character  of 
Octavia,  in  order  that  we  may  be  prepared  to  under 
stand  her  in  her  action  during  that  part  of  her  life- 
history  to  which  we  now  invite  your  attention.' 

We  have  intimated  in  a  former  chapter  that  Mr. 
Sharp  had  at  last  turned  up  at  the  home  of  the  Dives, 
after  considerable  time  had  elapsed  between  our 
friends'  arrival  in  the  Metropolis  and  the  actual  fulfil 
ment  of  his  promise  to  call  on  Octavia.  The  day  after 
the  party  had  arrived,  the  nurse  had  already  expected 
him;  but  he  had  not  come.  The  days  had  lengthened 
into  several  weeks  and  he  had  not  come.  Octavia  had 
at  the  end  of  the  first  week  received  a  note  which  was 
written  in  Kansas  City.  It  simply  stated  that  the 
pressure  of  his  business  had  caused  him  to  neglect 
calling  on  his  friends  whilst  in  the  city,  and  ere  he^had 
been  aware  of  it  he  had  been  hurried  off  to  Kansas 
City  by  the  pressure  of  that  same  business.  Octavia 
kept  this  note,  and  said  nothing  to  anyone  about  it. 


140  MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

She  was  glad  when  she  was  summoned  to  leave  the 
home  of  the  Dives  for  a  week  ' '  to  discharge  her  pro 
fessional  duties,"  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
announcing  such  a  summons  to  her  friends. 

The  Dives  themselves  were  wondering  why  Mr. 
Sharp  had  not  called  on  Octavia  since  they  had  left 
him  at  the  depot.  They  had  thought  that  Octavia  had 
made  quite  an  impression  on  him.  They  felt  sure  that 
he  had  made  one  on  her.  Perhaps  he  was  calling  on 
her  where  she  was  now  employed.  Before  she  had 
left  the  Dives'  home  they  had  teased  her  about  Sharp's 
not  calling.  They  had  reminded  her,  jokingly,  it  is 
true,  that  those  alone  are  best  in  love  who  love  but 
once,  and  that  for  years. 

Octavia  said  she  did  not  tell  them  all  she  knew,  (and 
a  smile  of  satisfaction  passed  over  her  face  as  she  said 
it)  nor  did  she  expect  them  to  tell  her  everything  they 
knew.  She  would  keep  her  own  counsel.  Then  she 
added,  "  Girls,  I  will  surprise  you  one  day  most  won 
derfully." 

"  You  have  done  that  a  number  of  times  already," 
said  Jennie.  ' '  For  instance,  when  you  allowed  your 
self  to  giggle  and  whisper  and  ogle  with  a  man  whom 
you  had  met  only  a  few  days  before." 

This  was  too  much  for  Octavia.  She  blushed  crim 
son,  not  with  shame,  but  with  anger.  She  opened  her 
mouth,  but  she  did  not  speak.  Odtavia  sometimes 
thought  twice  before  she  spoke  once,  but  the  occasions 
were  rare  when  that  was  the  case.  It  was  good  that 


MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA.  14! 

this  was  one  of  them.  She  swept  from  the  room  in 
majestic  silence. 

When  she  was  gone  the  elder  Miss  Dives  said, 
"  Jennie,  we  must  stop  teasing  that  girl.  She  gets  so 
mad.  She  will  leave  the  house  if  we  don't." 

' '  I  am  sure  that  would  not  be  a  misfortune.  I  for 
one  would  not  be  sorry." 

"You  forget  that  she  nursed  you  through  a  danger 
ous  spell  of  pneumonia  last  fall.  When  the  doctor 
said  to  me,  '  Your  sister,  I  fear,  is  beyond  human 
help,'  and  I  told  Octavia  what  he  had  said,  she  replied, 
'  Doctors  do  not  know  everything.  I  am  glad  he  and 
all  of  them  give  up  the  case.  I  will  show  you  what  a 
good  nurse  can  do. '  ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Jennie,  "  she  took  as  much  pride  in 
'  pulling  me  through,'  as  she  called  it,  as  a  carver  takes 
in  the  image  he  has  carved.  It  was  not  sympathy  for 
you  nor  love  for  me  that  did  it.  It  was  all  done  in 
order  that  she  might  say,  '  there,  now,  am  I  not 
smart?'" 

"Your  life  was  saved,  dear,  and  that  is  enough. 
I^et  us  not  speak  about  the  workman  so  unkindly, 
when  we  so  plainly  see  the  proof  of  his  skill." 

"  Do  not  forget  God,  Susie,  or  he  will  judge  us," 
was  Jennie's  reply.  "  Do  you  not  wonder,  sister, 
what  became  of  Mr.  Sharp  ?  There  must  be  some  very 
grave  and  very  important  business  absorbing  him, 
or  he  would  have  turned  up  ere  this.  Depend  upon 
it,  if  Octavia  knew  where  he  is,  she  would  not  be  so 
anxious  to  keep  her  own  counsel." 


142  MORE  ABOUT  SHARP  AND  OCTAVIA. 

"  '  Two  may  keep  counsel  when  the  third's  away,' 
do  not  forget  that,  my  little  sister,"  replied  Susan 
Dives. 

Here  the  conversation  ended.  One  of  the  girls 
was  called  from  the  room,  and  the  other  resumed  her 
crocheting.  You,  kind  reader,  no  doubt,  wonder  what 
has  become  of  Mr.  Sharp.  Some  very  important 
events  were  occurring,  and  it  depended  all  on  how 
Mr.  Sharp  would  be  able  to  manage  these  events,  as 
to  whether  the  Dives  or  Octavia  would  ever  see  his 
shadow  across  the  Dives'  door-way.  We  shall  pres 
ently  see  how  he  managed. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CARRIE  AND  ' '  THE  HERO  ' '  HAVE  AN  EVENING  TO 
GETHER. 

"  Love,  Love,  my  Love. 

The  best  things  are  the  truest: 
When  the  earth  lies  shadowy  dark  below 

Oh  then  the  heavens  are  the  bluest." — Gilder. 

One  evening  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  in  majestic 
splendor  behind  the  great  rocks  of  the  mighty  moun 
tains,  Sambo  and  Carrie's  hero  drove  up  to  the  stone 
house.  Mr.  Dives  had  received  a  letter  from  the  hero 
stating  the  day  and  train  he  expected  to  arrive  at  the 
little  station  where  he  in  the  last  year  had  gotten  on 
and  off  the  cars  so  often.  Sambo  had  been  sent  to  the 
station  at  the  proper  time,  and  he  had  shown  his  great 
white  teeth  like  a  great  St.  Bernard  when  he  saw  his 
friend  step  off  the  train.  The  hero  had  given  him  a 
hearty  hand-shake  and  inquired  after  everybody,  be 
fore  they  actually  started  from  the  station.  He  had 
heard  only  once  from  the  stone  house.  He  had  re 
ceived  a  letter  pertaining  to  the  errand  upon  which  he 
had  gone  to  Santa  Fe.  Carrie  had  not  written  to  him 
nor  had  he  asked  her  to  write.  Nothing  would  have 
delighted  him  more  than  to  have  received  a  letter 
which  he  knew  to  have  been  penned  by  her  little 
hand;  but  he  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  ask  it  of  her. 

143 


144  CARRIK  AND  "THE  HERO" 

Carrie  would  have  written  if  she  had  been 
asked;  but  she  was  the  kind  of  fruit  that  did  not  fall 
by  simply  looking  at  the  tree. 

But  here  they  were  in  front  of  the  stone  house. 
When  Carrie  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  cart-wheels  on 
the  hard  road  she  came  to  the  piazza.  She  had  on 
the  same  pink  wrapper  which  she  wore  the  morning 
Dr.  Burns  saw  her  waving  her  hand  after  him,  and 
heard  her  shouting  her  cheery  good-by.  Her  hair 
was  placed  in  a  Psyche  knot,  and  her  brown  forehead 
adorned  with  her  own  black  locks.  Her  bewitching 
blue  eyes  sparkled  and  danced  as  he  had  seen  them 
again  and  again  when  she  was  happy.  To  him  she 
never  looked  more  beautiful  than  that  evening  as  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  in  friendly  greeting.  She  said, 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Hope  you  had  a  nice  trip  and 
a  good  time. ' '  Of  coiirse  the  hero  responded  in  the 
affirmative,  and  told  her  he  would  tell  her  of  all  he 
saw,  at  his  earliest  opportunity. 

That  evening  after  dinner  Mr.  Dives  and  the  hero 
went  to  the  office  and  when  Carrie  came  in  an  hour 
afterwards  the  old  gentleman  told  her  to  leave  them 
alone  as  they  had  important  work  to  attend  to.  It 
was  ten  o'clock  when  they  went  to  their  rooms  that 
evening,  and  Carrie  had  not  had  a  chance  to  talk  over 
the  trip.  Mr.  Dives  told  his  daughter  the  next  morn 
ing  that  the  trip  had  been  a  financial  success.  The 
mules  had  been  shipped  a  week  before  our  friend  left 
Santa  Fe,  and  when  he  himself  arrived  most  of  them 
were  already  sold.  The  car-load  had  netted  the  neat 


HAVE  AN  EVENING  TOGETHER.  145 

sum  of  one  thousand  dollars.  The  old  gentleman  was 
delighted  with  our  friend's  work.  He  said  he  had 
never  had  anybody  working  for  him  East  or  West, 
that  was  more  reliable  and  showed  better  business  tact 
than  this  young  man  did. 

There  was  a  great  deal  to  do  that  week,  and  Carrie 
did  not  get  her  talk  with  her  friend  until  Saturday  of 
the  week  following  his  arrival.  Then  she  and  he 
were  in  the  parlor  together.  He  had  asked  her  to 
sing  and  play  for  him;  but  she  insisted  on  being  told 
all  that  he  had  seen  on  his  visit  to  the  indian  villages. 
He  forgot  that  he  was  tired  when  he  was  once  fully 
started  in  telling  her  all  he  had  seen.  She  was  intensely 
interested.  She  said  that  if  he  ever  went  again,  she 
would  insist  on  inviting  her  teacher  who  was  still  in 
Colorado  Springs,  and  who  she  knew,  would  enjoy  the 
trip  wonderfully.  Would  he  be  willing  to  be  burdened 
with  the  care  of  two  ladies? 

When' he  had  told  Carrie  all  he  knew,  and  answered 
all  the  questions  she  asked,  he  said:  "Now  tell 
me  what  kind  of  a  time  Dr.  Burns  and  you  had  whilst 
I  was  away."  Carrie  had  already  told  him  that  the 
doctor  had  spent  several  days  with  them  at  the  ranch, 
whilst  her  hero  was  away.  Sambo,  the  sly  coon,  had 
not  hinted  at  the  doctor's  visit,  either  because  he  did 
not  wish  to  say  anything  that  Carrie  might  not  wish 
him  to  tell,  or  because  he  did  not  think  himself  capa 
ble  of  answering  all  the  questions  Carrie's  hero  might 
see  fit  to  ask.  He  was  diplomatic  enough  to  know 
that  silence  on  that  subject  was  the  best. 


146  CARRIE  AND  "THE  HERO  " 

Carrie  said  in  answer  to  the  request  her  hero  had 
made:  "  We  had  a  real  good  time  whilst  the  doctor 
was  here,  but  I  would  have  enjoyed  it  better  if  you 
had  been  here  also."  Carrie's  hero  looked  pleased 
when  she  said  this;  but  when  after  pausing  a  little, 
she  added,  "  We  could  have  played  tennis  then.  As 
it  was,  we  did  not  have  enough  to  enjoy  the  game," 
the  smile  of  satisfaction  which  had  come  on  his  lips, 
faded  away. 

After  Carrie  had  told  all  that  she  and  the  doctor  and 
Sambo,  and  her  father  had  done  to  make  the  time 
pleasant  for  Dr.  Burns,  without  at  all  alluding  to  what 
they  did  in  the  evening,  our  friend  said:  "  I  guess  in 
the  evening  you  sang  and  played  for  the  doctor.  Can 
he  sing  ?  ' ' 

' '  No,  the  doctor  cannot  sing  as  well  as  you  can. 
He  does  not  play  at  all;  but  he  seems  to  enjoy  when 
others  play  and  sing. ' ' 

' '  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  here  to  hear  you '  sing  and 
play;  because  I  never  tire  of  your  music,"  added  our 
friend. 

Carrie  did  not  allude  to  the  conversation  which  she 
and  the  doctor  had  the  last  evening  of  his  visit;  but  we 
will  confess,  that  she  wondered  in  her  own  mind  how 
a  knowledge  of  that  conversation  would  affect  the 
young  man  who  was  sitting  on  the  very  chair  that  Dr. 
Burns  sat  on  when  he  wished  to  have  her  promise  to 
become  the  queen  of  his  home. 

Whilst  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  the 
brain  of  pretty  Carrie  Dives,  her  hero  was  thinking  of 


HAVE  AN  EVENING  TOGETHER.  147 

the  dcxflor,  and  asking  himself  how  long  the  interludes 
between  Carrie's  songs  had  been,  and  whether  Doctor 
Burns  sat  like  a  dull  overgrown  boy  during  those  in 
terludes  as  he  was  doing,  without  knowing  what  to 
say.  Carrie  broke  the  silence  by  saying:  "Do  you 
know  that  I  am  getting  a  distinguished  visitor  for  the 
summer  ?  "  The  hero  replied  that  he  did  not.  Who 
could  he  be,  he  asked.  Carrie  replied  that  it  was  not  a 
he  at  all;  but  that  it  was  just  the  sweetest  and  cutest 
young  lady  in  New  York  City.  It  was  none  other 
than  her  own  charming  little  cousin.  She  told  him 
that  her  cousin  was  twenty  years  old  and  that  she  re 
sembled  Carrie,  people  had  said,  enough  to  be  a  twin 
sister  when  they  were  still  together  in  the  city.  No- 
doubt  her  cousin  had  changed  since  she  saw  her  last.  She 
at  least  knew  that  Jennie  Dives  was  not  as  black  as 
she  was.  She  had  black  eyes  whilst  she  herself  had 
blue  eyes,  as  he  could  tell  if  he  ever  took  the  pains  to 
look  at  them. 

"  As  if  anybody  could  see  you  a  minute  without 
seeing  your  eyes,"  interrupted  our  friend.  "If 
she  looks  like  you,  Carrie,"  he  added,  without 
the  slightest  sign  that  he  was  saying  anything  that 
could  be  interpreted  as  flattery  by  the  girl  before  him, 
"  she  is  pretty,  and  no  doubt  agreeable.  I  will  be 
pleased  to  meet  her;  that  is,  if  she  cares  to  have  a 
clerk  enter  her  society." 

Carrie  interrupted  him  by  saying,  "As  if  a  clerk, 
as  you  see  fit  to  style  yourself,  were  not  as  good  as 
anybody  else.  Besides,  that  is  just  the  way  her 


I4§  CARRIE  AND  "  THE  HERO  " 

father  and  mine  began  life.  I  shall  introduce  you  as 
'my  hero,'  and  not  as  my  father's  book-keeper. 
Who  knows — "  Here  the  girl  hesitated,  then  left 
her  sentence  unfinished.  The  young  man  gave  her  a 
searching  look,  which  she  returned.  The  two  pairs  of 
eyes  asked  questions  which  their  souls  did  not  dare 
to  answer.  Had  our  friend  not  felt  his  position 
as  he  did,  and  thought  the  girl  so  far  above  him 
it  might  have  been  different.  As  it  was,  the  clock 
struck  eleven,  and  Carrie  with  a  start  arose  and  said, 
"  good  night,"  and  was  gone.  Our  young  man 
closed  the  parlor,  outened  the  light,  and  went  to  his 
room.  Cicero  says:  "  Modesty  is  that  feeling  by 
which  honorable  shame  acquires  a  valuable  and  lasting 
authority."  It  was  no  shame  that  was  acquiring  the 
"  lasting  authority  "  over  our  friend's  affections,  and 
perhaps  was  forever  restraining  them  from  asserting 
themselves  boldly  in  the  presence  of  Carrie  Dives. 

He  decided  that  next  morning,  in  the  presence  of 
her  father,  and  on  the  way  to  church  (in  the  little  vil 
lage  which  had  recently  grown  up  around  the  rail 
road  station)  he  would  declare  his  love,  and  receive 
his  fate  as  the  condemned  prisoner  received  the  keen 
edge  of  the  executioner's  axe.  It  would  be  a  relief  to 
have  the  worst  over.  He  laughed  at  how  very  silly 
his  attitude  would  appear  if  he  would  thus  "  make  a 
fool  of  himself,"  as  he  termed  it,  on  the  way  to 
church.  The  laugh  relieved  the  tension  of  his  heart, 
and  with  it  his  nerves.  He  finally  fell  asleep  and  did 
not  awake  until  Hannah  rang  the  bell  for  breakfast. 


HAVE  AN  EVENING  TOGETHER.  149 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  how  Carrie  spent 
the  time  intervening  between  the  hour  when  she  left 
our  friend  in  the  parlor,  and  one  o'clock,  when  she 
fell  asleep.  Carrie  Dives  was  a  modest  girl,  and  did 
not  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve,  so  I  do  not  know 
that  it  would  be  at  all  edifying  if  we  would  enter  her 
room  and  try  to  read  her  thoughts.  We  do  know 
what  our  friend  did  not  know  as  he  was  tossing  on  his 
bed,  and  that  is  that  she  has  not  as  yet  promised  to 
marry  Dr.  Burns.  We  can  infer,  too,  that  a  girl  with 
such  searching  eyes  could  look  upon  the  heart  of  her 
hero  and  know  that  he  loved  her.  Woman  generally 
reads  a  man's  heart  by  instinct,  unless  pride  or  vanity 
have  deadened  her  sensibilities. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SHARP. 

' '  O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal." 

— Shakespeare. 

When  Mr.  Sharp  left  the  party  which  he  had  accom 
panied  from  the  Pacific  Coast,  he  said  that  he  would 
establish  himself  in  a  good,  comfortable  hotel,  proba 
bly  the  Astor,  then  he  would  call  and  see  MissOclavia. 
He  had  told  Odlavia  this  because  he  was  thoroughly 
convinced  that  she  was  the  only  one  in  the  party  who 
cared  in  the  least  where  he  went,  or  whether  he  would 
call  on  them.  We  have  already  seen  that  Sharp  did 
not  call  near  as  soon  as  he  had  promised  the  nurse  he 
would.  There  were  good  reasons  for  his  not  calling, 
but  none  of  those  who  had  traveled  with  him  knew 
those  reasons. 

When  the  days  passed  into  weeks  and  Sharp 
did  not  call,  Oclavia  became  anxious  about  him.  He 
might  have  met  with  some  accident.  She  scanned  the 
papers  daily  for  the  first  week,  hoping  that  she  might 
gain  some  tidings  from  him.  She  herself  had  many 
thoughts  concerning  him.  She  confessed  to  herself 
that  she  had  been  very  favorably  impressed  with  him. 
He  was  married,  it  was  true.  He  himself  had 
acknowledged  it.  She  was  sorry  that  it  was  so;  but 
150 


SHARP.  151 

might  not  a  married  man,  lawfully  divorced,  love 
just  as  ardently  as  any  other  man  ?  But  the  rumor 
that  Mr.  Sharp  was  to  blame  for  the  separation  of 
himself  and  wife  was  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
friends  of  his  wife.  She  had  to  confess  that  the  only 
person  who  took  Mr.  Sharp's  part  in  the  matter  was 
the  cousin  of  the  Dives.  Perhaps  she  knew  his  affairs 
best.  Mr.  Sharp  himself  had  told  her  that  he  had  a 
bright,  interesting  little  girl  of  five  summers.  How 
could  he  leave  that  bright  little  girl  to  the  training  of 
its  mother,  when  he  knew  that  that  mother  was  not  a 
fit  person  to  take  care  of  the  child  ?  How  could  a  true 
father  leave  his  child  for  any  reason  ?  Thus  for  a 
moment,  that  just,  that  true  judge,  good  old  common 
sense,  came  back  to  the  judgment  seat  he  so  seldom 
occupied  in  the  nurse's  soul,  to  warn  her  against  her 
impending  danger.  He  came,  so  it  seemed  to  Octavia's 
friends  afterwards,  to  deliver  his  last  sentence.  He 
told  her  the  truth;  but  her  love — yes,  Octavia  con 
fessed  that  she  loved  Mr.  Sharp — her  love,  that  master 
of  all  arts,  that  judge  which  is  so  easily  bribed,  that 
passion  which  runs  away  with  every  sober  faculty, 
caused  her  to  silence  her  conscience.  Mr.  Sharp  was 
a  good  man  or  he  could  not  have  succeeded  in  life  as 
he  had.  She  had  heard  from  his  own  lips  how,  from 
a  boy,  he  had  to  rely  upon  himself  for  an  education,  a 
home,  a  business,  in  fadl  for  everything  which  men 
prize  in  this  life.  But  then  suppose  he  did  not  love 
her?  She  did  not  care,  she  would  reply  to  that 
thought.  She  had  some  business  she  must  transact  ere 


152  SHARP. 

long;  if  Mr.  Sharp  would  not  soon  come  she  would  be 
compelled  to  call  upon  someone  else.  Odlavia  admitted 
but  one  reason  why  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  attorney  of  the  Dives — they  would  know  all  about 
her  business.  But  would  they  have  known  all  about 
her  business  ?  Did  he  make  a  habit  of  telling  the 
Dives,  or  anybody,  his  clients'  business?  The  real 
reason  why  Miss  Odlavia  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  old  friend  of  the  Dives,  was  purely  and  sim 
ply  because  he  was  not  Mr.  Sharp. 

If  Odlavia  had  known  the  real  reason  Mr.  Sharp 
delayed  his  call,  she  would  have  been  very  much 
shocked.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  even 
then  Mr.  Sharp,  the  man  of  the  splendid  business 
capacity,  the  man  who  had  made  his  way  in  the  world 
without  the  help  of  anybody,  was  languishing  because 
of  his  business  propensities.  Even  then  a  dark  cloud 
was  obscuring  the  horizon  of  James  Sharp, Esq.  Even 
then  a  dark  blot  was  threatening  to  settle  on  his  fair 
name,  as  Odlavia  pidlured  that  name  to  be.  These 
are  the  particulars,  nothing  serious  as  Mr.  Sharp  tried 
to  persuade  himself,  and  as  a  man  who  has  attained 
the  stage  in  wrong-doing  he  had  attained,  will  try  to 
persuade  himself.  He  had  foreclosed  a  mortgage  for 
a  New  York  firm,  on  some  L,os  Angeles  property  a  few 
weeks  before  he  left  that  town.  He  had  forgotten  to 
forward  the  draft  for  the  money,  even  when  he  knew 
that  the  New  Yorkers  knew  that  the  transaction  was 
complete.  They  had  wired  him  before  he  thought  of 
leaving  L,os  Angeles,  that  if  the  money  were  not  paid 


SHARP.  153 

at  once  he  would  be  arrested;  but  he  had  paid  no 
attention  to  the  matter.  At  Kansas  City  he  had  been 
wired  by  Mr.  Ketchem  that  the  police  were  on  his 
track.  He  in  turn  telegraphed  for  a  draft  to  pay  the 
two  thousand  dollars  he  owed  the  New  York  party. 
Mr.  Ketchem  had  forwarded  the  same  at  once,  and  he 
had  gone  to  the  office  of  the  people  in  New  York,  as  if 
nothing  were  wrong.  The  draft  had  not  yet  arrived; 
but  he  wished  them  to  understand  that  he  was  honest. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Octavia's  letter  from  the  adminis 
trator  of  the  True  estate,  it  is  doubtful  whether  Mr. 
Sharp  would  have  paid  the  obligation,  which  took 
nearly  half  of  all  he  had  left  in  the  world,  so  rapid  had 
been  the  decrease  in  his  pile,  since  he  had  become  an 
inveterate  poker  player.  That  letter  had  decided  him 
to  be  as  honest  as  necessary  to  keep  in  the  good  graces 
of  a  lady  whom  he  knew  to  be  honest,  to  say  the  very 
least  about  her. 

When  he  arrived  in  the  office  of  his  clients  in  New 
York  he  had  introduced  himself;  whereupon  they  in 
vited  him  into  their  private  office,  and  whilst  one  was 
talking  to  him  another  had  gone  for  a  policeman  and  the 
necessary  papers.  After  he  was  arrested  he  was  sim 
ply  detained  until  they  knew  whether  the  money  was 
really  coming  or  not  coming.  It  did  come  in  a  few 
days,  and  he  was  released  only  to  be  summoned  to 
Kansas  City  to  keep  some  property  which  the  firm  of 
Sharp  and  Ketchem  had  acquired  there  in  exchange 
for  some  stock  in  an  Irrigation  company,  from  going 
into  the  hands  of  their  creditors.  This  had  required 


154  SHARP. 

some  time;  but  at  last  Mr.  Sharp  was  himself  again, 
and  quietly  seated  in  the  smoking  parlor  of  a  Pullman 
on  his  way  back  to  New  York.  He  was  congratulat 
ing  himself  that  no  one  could  outwit  him.  Even  the 
people  in  New  York  who  had  had  him  arrested  ad 
mitted  that  they  had  been  too  much  in  a  hurry;  and 
that  perhaps  all  would  have  come  out  right  had  they 
not  been  so  hasty.  Mr.  Sharp  had  taken  the  part  of 
injured  innocence.  He  had  simply  delayed  the  remit 
tance,  he  said,  because  he  knew  he  would  come  to  the 
Metropolis  anyhow.  They  had  not  allowed  the  arrest 
to  be  published,  and  consequently  Octavia  was  kept 
in  ignorance  of  the  affair  for  a  long  time,  in  fact  for  so 
long  a  time,  that  the  knowledge,  when  she  did  gain  it, 
did  her  no  good. 

There  was  one  thought  that  perplexed  Mr.  Sharp  that 
day  on  his  way  from  Kansas  City  to  the  Metropolis, 
and  that  thought  was  how  he  should  go  about  offering 
himself  to  Miss  Dr.  Newman  as  he  had  called  her, 
much  to  her  delight.  If  he  were  quite  sure  that  he 
had  made  an  impression  on  her  heart  he  would  try  to 
deepen  that  impression  and  then  at  the  earliest  mo 
ment  he  would  propose  marriage  to  her.  But  he  had 
thus  far  neglected  to  get  a  divorce  from  his  lawful  wife. 
Would  it  not  be  risky  to  propose  to  another  woman 
whilst  he  had  a  wife  ?  When  she  found  out  that  he 
had  been  still  married  when  he  made  love  and  pro 
posed  to  her,  it  might  spoil  all.  He  did  not  condemn 
himself  for  not  having  gotten  his  divorce  before.  He 
did  not  wish  any  property  which  belonged  to  his  wife 


SHARP.  155 

and  child  to  go  into  other  hands.  He  had  lately 
heard  that  his  mother-in-law  was  sick  and  he  knew 
that  when  he  left  his  wife  she  had  looked  like  a 
shadow.  Would  a  sane  man  under  such  circumstances 
get  a  divorce  ?  He  asked  this  question  and  answered 
it  very  decidedly  in  the  negative.  He  was  perfectly 
excusable  for  having  put  off  that  business.  But  this 
fact  that  he  was  not  divorced  might  impede  his  free 
dom  of  action  in  this  the  second  matter  relating  to 
matrimony.  If  Octavia  did  not  love  him,  then  it 
would  be  indeed  a  delicate  question  to  ask  her  to  be 
employed  in  settling  the  True  estate.  Besides  his 
fooling  with  a  paltry  two  thousand  dollars,  might  by 
this  time  have  lost  him  much  more.  Perhaps  Octavia 
was  by  this  time  already  engaged  in  transferring  the 
money  into  her  own  name.  In  that  case  he  still  had 
one  chance  left  him,  he  would  court  her  for  all  he  was 
worth,  and  win  her  hand  in  spite  of  herself,  by  foul 
means  or  fair.  Had  he  not  succeeded  once  before, 
when  he  had  had  more  difficulties  to  encounter  than 
this  time  ?  The  idea  of  his  failing !  He  knew  no  such 
word  as  fail.  The  way  to  fortune  and  to  fame  was 
still  open  to  him,  he  chuckled  to  himself.  The  por 
ter  who  had  watched  him  from  a  mirror  which  reflected 
his  base  image,  said  to  himself,  "  Dat  am  a  bad  man. 
He  am  no  good.  Dis  nigger  see  de  debil  laughen  in 
his  face.  Wonder  who  he  am,  and  what  plans  he  am 
concocten?  "  Just  then  Sharp  called,  "  Here  porter, 
go  to  the  news  agent  and  get  me  two  cigars. ' '  He 
gave  the  porter  fifty  cents,  and  he  brought  him  two 


156  SHARP. 

ten  cent  cigars;  he  let  him  keep  the  change,  but  the 
porter  murmured  as  he  went  away,  ' '  He  am  a  bad 
egg,  that  am  plain  as  the  nose  on  my  face."  The 
darkie's  nose  was  plain,  that  was  sure. 

On  his  arrival  in  New  York  he  went  to  a  cheap 
lodging  house.  He  took  his  dinner  on  West  street. 
It  consisted  of  a  piece  of  steak,  bread  and  butter, 
a  potato  or  two,  boiled  in  salt  water,  and  coarse  black 
bread  with  coffee.  As  he  sat  down  and  scanned  this 
fare,  a  voice  said  within  him;  "  Old  man,  you  are  down 
to  what  you  were  seven  years  ago.  You  have  less 
than  you  then  had.  You  have  lost  your  clear  con 
science.  In  fact  you  have  no  conscience  at  all.  You 
have  lost  your  good  name.  Sharp,  you  are  poor! 
What  is  worse,  you  have  made  others  poor.  You  have 
robbed  men  and  women,  not  only  of  their  money,  but 
of  their  happiness,  their  character.  Sharp,  you  are  a 
bad  man."  He  gave  the  table-leg  a  vicious  little 
kick,  and  then  he  began  to  eat. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER   AGENT. 
"A  business  with  an  income  at  its  heels." — Cowptr. 

Several  weeks  have  elapsed  since  Mr.  Sharp  called 
on  Octavia,  and  it  is  time  that  our  readers  know  their 
plans.  We  have  already  seen  that  when  Sharp  finally 
called  on  Miss  Octavia  she  was  at  home.  Call  it  des 
tiny  or  call  it  fate,  which  so  arranged  that  she  was  home 
that  evening  when  Sharp  called ;  but  Providence  it  was 
not,  unless  it  is  true  what  our  old  Presbyterian  divines 
believed,  that  the  man  that  is  born  to  be  hung  can't  be 
drowned.  The  nurse  was  home,  and  when  the  servant 
who  answered  the  bell  heard  the  man  who  stood 
before  her  ask  whether  Miss  Odtavia  Newman,  M.  D., 
was  home,  that  personage  also  heard  the  question  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs  where  she  had  been  standing,  in 
her  eagerness  to  know  whether  Mr.  Sharp  had  not  at 
last  come.  Octavia  had  not  waited  for  the  summons. 
She  had  come  to  the  door  before  the  servant  could 
receive  Mr.  Sharp's  card.  Octavia  stretched  her  thin, 
soft  hand  toward  the  Los  Angeles  attorney,  and  he 
had  taken  it  into  his  larger  palm,  not  eagerly,  nor 
clutchingly;  but  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  cat 
takes  a  mouse  which  she  knows  to  be  fully  in  her 
power.  Sharp  smiled,  and  showed  his  teeth  as  he 
smiled.  Whenever  Sharp  smiled  his  thin  lips  would 


158  OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT. 

stretch  until  they  became  thin  as  pasteboard.  Then 
his  teeth  would  show  like  those  of  a  dog  when  he  is 
ready  to  bite.  Octavia,  who  professed  to  be  able  to 
read  human  nature,  for  some  reason  or  other  never 
thought  of  the  disposition  that  must  govern  a  man  or 
woman  that  smiles  the  way  Sharp  smiled.  His  cold, 
steel  gray  eyes  looked  searchingly  into  hers,  as  much 
as  if  he  intended  to  ask,  "have  you  made  arrange 
ments  to  transfer  the  property  willed  you,  into  your 
name?"  Sharp  would  look  people  squarely  into  the 
eyes  on  occasions  when  like  the  serpent,  he  wished  to 
sting  them.  At  other  times  he  studiously  avoided 
seeing  the  contenance  of  the  person  addressing  him. 
A  thief  can,  when  he  wishes  it,  stare  an  honest  man 
out  of  countenance;  but  he  cannot  keep  his  lips  from 
twitching.  Of  late  Sharp's  lips  twitched,  when  not 
too  tightly  stretched  into  one  of  his  dog  like  smiles. 
Any  one  who  could  read  character  and  was  acquainted 
with  Sharp,  would  have  realized  that  he  had  come  for 
plunder,  and  that  he  had  made  his  plans  to  get  it. 
The  unconscious  Octavia  did  not  suspect,  much  less 
realize  just  then  that  that  was  the  object  of  Sharp's 
visit.  Had  she  been  asked  the  reason  Sharp  came  to 
see  her  rather  than  the  Dives  girls,  or  Felix,  she 
would  have  blushed,  until  her  white  cheeks  would 
have  been  as  crimson  as  they  were  when  Jennie  Dives 
had  made  her  angry  on  account  of  this  same  Mr. 
Sharp. 

Mr.  Sharp  easily  drifted  into  conversation  with  re 
gard  to  the  business  that  had   taken   him   to   Kansas 


OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT.  159 

City.  He  had  explained  that  when  he  and  Mr. 
Ketchem  had  been  in  the  real-estate  business  they  had 
become  favorably  known  all  over  the  Uuited  States, 
and  had  invested  thousands  of  dollars  for  persons  they 
had  never  seen.  So  large  a  business  he  said,  could 
not  t>e  closed  up  in  a  day  or  two,  now  that  they  had 
dissolved  partnership.  There  were  collections  to  be 
made,  which  he  with  his  superior  legal  knowledge 
alone  could  make.  He  knew  the  laws  pertaining  to 
such  matters,  in  all  the  different  states  of  the  Union, 
and  could  make  collections  and  transfer  property  any 
where,  and  without  cost  or  worry  to  his  clients.  There 
was  such  a  thing  as  learning  a  business  thoroughly, 
and  that  is  just  what  he  had  done. 

Miss  Octavia  listened  with  interest  as  Mr.  Sharp 
dilated  on  his  superior  knowledge  of  the  very  subjedl 
with  which  she  was  then  specially  concerned.  When 
he  ceased,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  the  observer  might 
have  seen  her  form  straighten  as  she  said,  "  I,  too,  am 
interested  in  the  real-estate  business  just  now.  It  is 
all  in  my  own  property  however  that  I  am  interested. 
An  old  friend  of  mine,  one  with  whom  I  went  to 
school,  has  recently  left  this  mundane  sphere,  and  as 
a  token  that  he  had  not  forgotten  me,  has  left  me  the 
greater  part  of  his  estate." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Sharp,  his  eyes  sparkling,  and 
his  lips  wearing  not  the  dog-smile,  but  a  smile  which 
puckered  them,  and  for  the  time  softened  the  hard 
lines  which  his  vicious  disposition  had  fixed  and  was 
fixing  more  firmly  every  day.  "  I  suppose  the  gentle- 


160  OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT. 

man  who  has  left  you  this  property  is  an  old  lover,  or 
rather  one  who  first  desired  to  gain  a  fortune,  or  as  we 
used  to  say,  '  buy  a  nice  cage,'  before  he  claimed  his 
bird  ?  It  is  sad  that  he  should  be  called  away  when 
his  fortune  was  about  to  be  consummated.  It  must 
have  been  very  sad  for  you  thus  to  lose  the  matt  who 
did  so  much  for  you." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been,"  replied  Octavia, 
"  but  I  can  not  talk  from  experience  on  that  subject. 
Good  friends  we  were,  it  is  true;  but  Mr.  True's  posi 
tion  in  life  was  not  such  that  our  union  would  have 
been  at  all  possible.  He  did  not  move  in  the  same 
sphere  in  which  it  has  been  my  lot  to  move.  We 
never  had  the  slightest  idea  of  a  matrimonial  alliance." 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Octavia.  I  did  not  know 
the  social  sphere  in  which  your  friend  moved.  I  know 
that  persons  of  your  social  standing  in  life,  would  not 
be  happy  with  a  man  who  could  not  enter  into  your 
aspirations,  and  sympathies.  '  We  pine  for  kindred 
natures  to  enter  our  own,'  you  know,"  said  Snarp 
with  a  big  sigh.  Odtavia  read  in  that  sigh,  a  sad  ex 
perience  in  the  life  of  the  man  who  sat  before  her. 
Sharp  meant  that  she  should;  but  outside  of  the 
hypocrisy  which  it  concealed  and  the  meaning  it  was 
intended  to  convey,  it  was  as  empty  as  a  vacuum  itself. 

Sharp  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  have  Odlavia  commit 
her  business  into  his  hands.  He  knew  she  would. 
He  wished  to  toy  with  her,  so  as  to  disarm  her  of  any 
suspicion  that  she  might  be  running  a  risk  in  commit 
ting  the  getting  of  her  estate  into  his  care.  She  would 


OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT.  l6l 

infer  that  he  was  disinterested  personally.  At  last 
however,  he  allowed  her  to  come  to  the  point.  She 
asked  him  plainly  whether  he  would  undertake  the 
business,  or  whether  he  was  already  over-burdened. 
He  replied  he  had  a  good-deal  to  do,  but  his  brain  was 
like  a  stage-coach,  there  was  always  room  for  more. 
At  this  stale  joke  Octavia  laughed  immoderately.  A 
drunken  man,  good  humored,  will  laugh  at  nothing. 
A  sober  man  who  congratulates  himself  that  a  matter 
which  has  weighed  upon  him  has  at  last  been  success 
fully  disposed  of,  will  give  vent  to  his  joyous  feelings 
at  the  merest  shadow  of  a  joke.  Octavia  was  intoxi 
cated  with  joy.  She  sent  the  pleasure  her  soul  felt 
out  into  the  room  where  Sharp  could  view  it,  covered, 
it  is  true,  in  the  scanty  attire  of  his  thread-bare  joke. 
Sharp  saw  that  her  soul  had  given  vent  to  its  feelings, 
and  he  too  laughed,  as  Octavia  thought,  at  his  own 
joke — but  not  so,  he  too  laughed,  under  cover  of  his 
joke.  The  laugh  was  prompted  by  the  consciousness 
that  his  conquest  was  complete,  complete  so  far  as^he 
wished  completion;  so  far  as  his  plans  were  laid.  The 
future  might  precipitate  emergencies,  which  would 
compel  him  to  change  his  plans;  but  the  victory 
already  gained  assured  him  that  there  were  other  tri 
umphs  in  store.  The  way  to  fortune,  if  not  to  fame, 
was  paved  once  more  for  him. 

Miss  Octavia  asked  her  attorney  what  she  must  do 
herself  in  order  to  expedite  her  business.  Thus  far 
she  said,  she  had  simply  written  Mr.  Bear,  the  admin 
istrator,  that  she  would  either  come  personally  or  send 


1 62  OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT. 

her  agent,  to  look  after  her  interests.  Would  it  be 
necessary  for  her  to  get  a  habeas  corpus,  in  order  to 
hurry  up  the  matter  ?  She  had  heard  people  talk 
about  habeas  corpus,  and  read  about  it,  but  did  not 
know  exactly  what  it  was.  Sharp  replied,  that 
when  an  attorney  understood  his  business  as  thor 
oughly  as  he  did,  a  habeas  corpus  was  entirely  unnec 
essary.  They  were  necessary  where  agents  were  bung 
lers.  He  said  this  without  a  smile  but  he  did  long  for 
the  merest  shadow  of  an  excuse  to  laugh,  so  that 
Octavia  might  not  suspect  that  he  was  laughing  at 
the  density  of  her  ignorance. 

There  were  many  questions  which  Octavia  wished  to 
ask  with  regard  to  the  disposal  of  her  property  after 
she  had  it.  She  felt  sure  that  she  herself  did  not  care 
to  live  in  Omaha.  She  knew  it  would  be  best  to  sell 
out  as  soon  as  she  could.  What  did  she  know  about 
cattle-raising  ?  She  had  asked  herself  these  questions 
many  times  during  the  last  few  weeks. 

^A-fter  they  were  through  discussing  their  bus 
iness,  Miss  Octavia  asked  Mr.  Sharp  where  he 
intended  to  reside  for  the  present.  He  said  that 
after  he  had  fully  closed  his  business  affairs  in  Los 
Angeles  he  expected  to  be  on  the  wing  for  a  little 
while.  His  business  would  require  it,  he  thought. 
He  would  be  compelled  to  seek  a  friend  in  New  York 
City  with  whom,  or  rather  in  whose  care  he  could 
receive  his  mail.  He  had  not  asked  any  of  his 
acquaintances  in  the  city  whether  they  would  be  will 
ing  to  do  that  for  him.  Octavia  replied  that  she  could 


OCTAVIA  SECURES  HER  AGENT.  163 

do  it,  if  he  did  not  object  to  having  his  mail  go  through 
her  hands.  Sharp  lied  when  he  said  that  that  would 
be  all  right.  He  knew  it  would  be  all  wrong. 

It  was  after  ten  that  evening  when  Sharp  left  the 
Dives  home.  He  said  on  leaving  that  he  would  first  write 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Bear  before  he  would  go  West;  perhaps 
it  would  not  be  necessary  for  him  to  go.  He  might 
have  added  that  he  had  no  money  to  go  even  if  it  were 
necessary.  In  fact,  how  to  get  money  was  the  impor 
tant  subject  to  which  Mr.  Sharp  must  turn  his  atten 
tion;  but  how  to  get  it  he  did  not  know  that  evening, 
as  he  sat  in  the  Dives  parlor.  How  he  managed  it  we 
will  presently  see.  For  this  time  we  must  bid  him 
adieu,  and  good  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"PETER  GRAY'S"  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT, 
AND  CITY  OF  IRON  VIGOR. 

"  What's  open  made 

To  justice,  that  justice  seizes.     What  know  the  laws, 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves  ?     'Tis  very  pregnant, 
The  jewel  that  we  find  we  stoop  and  take  it, 
Because  we  see  it;  what  we  do  not  see 
We  tread  upon  and  never  think  of  it." — Shakespeare. 

Not  two  hundred  miles  from  New  York  city  is  a 
little  city  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  long,  fertile  valley. 
For  many  years  this  was  a  small  town,  the  site  of 
which  was  not  unknown  in  the  days  of  the  Revolution. 
For  many  years  it  slumbered  in  that  valley  uncon 
scious  of  its  strength;  but  by  and  by  the  immense 
mountain  of  iron  not  many  miles  away  began  to  be 
utilized.  As  iron  in  the  blood  gives  vigor  to  the  body, 
so  iron  gave  this  little  village  strength.  The  fresh 
young  life  which  iron  from  the  mountain  not  far  away 
brought  it,  caused  it  to  awake  out  of  its  long  sleep 
and  look  around  upon  the  grand  possibilities  which  it 
might  grasp.  With  its  activity,  came  growth,  as 
comes  growth  to  the  body  when  properly  nourished. 
As  iron  in  the  blood  causes  the  blush  of  health  to 
come  to  the  cheek  that  before  was  pale  and  thin,  so 
iron  in  the  city  and  out  of  it,  brought  the  town  beauty. 
164 


"  PETER  GRAY'S  "  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT.  165 

One  fine  home  after  another  was  erected,  one  improve 
ment  after  another  was  made. 

At  the  time  of  this  story,  a  beautiful  park  in  the 
mountains,  where  the  water  bubbled  high  in  the  air 
from  natural  fountains,  and  where  the  giants  of  the 
forest  were  stirred  by  the  invigorating  breezes  that 
seldom  visited  the  valley  during  the  hot  summer 
months,  had  become  the  centre  of  attraction.  Art 
had  joined  hands  with  nature  and  had  embellished  the 
place.  Cottages  had  been  erected,  roads,  over  which 
during  many  years  before  the  mountaineer  drove  his 
slow  and  over-burdened  team,  were  straightened  and 
graded.  On  the  very  top  of  the  highest  point  of  the 
mountain  an  observatory  had  been  erected,  from  the  top 
of  which  there  is  one  of  the  grandest  views  in  all  that 
section  of  country.  The  city  to  which  we  have  already 
referred  can  be  seen,  "  like  a  child  in  dreamless  slum 
ber  bound,"  nestling  in  the  valley  at  the  point  farthest 
removed  from  the  surrounding  hills.  Close  to  the  city 
the  smoke  arises  from  half  a  dozen  furnaces,  which 
have  been  the  means  of  infusing  the  results  of  the 
iron,  if  not  the  strength  of  it,  into  the  life  of  that  city. 
In  the  summer  season,  when  the  observatory  is  used, 
the  landscape  is  beautifully  variegated  with  ripening 
harvests,  green  pastures  and  grazing  cattle,  whilst 
everywhere  stately  farm-houses  are  nestled  among 
clumps  of  green  trees. 

This  pretty  park  has  attracted  hosts  of  visitors  from 
everywhere,  for  many  miles  around,  and  its  charms 
have  been  extensively  advertised.  Assemblies  and 


i66        "  PETER  GRAY'S  "  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT, 

encampments  of  all  kinds  find  their  way  to  this  spot 
in  the  mountains.  At  the  time  to  which  this  story 
refers,  the  militia  of  the  state  had  pitched  its  tents  just 
outside  of  the  forest,  on  a  plain  which  nature  and  man 
had  cleared  of  trees  many  years  before. 

I^ate  one  evening,  during  this  encampment,  a  man 
came  to  one  of  the  principal  streets  in  the  city  of  iron 
vigor.  He  wrote  his  name  on  the  hotel  register.  The 
clerk  of  the  hotel  opened  his  eyes  wide  when  he  read, 
"  Peter  Gray,  L.  A.,  Cal."  It  was  not  often  that  he 
could  see  names  upon  that  register  from  places  as  far 
away  as  California.  "  You  have  had  a  long  journey, 
Mr.  Gray,"  said  the  clerk.  "  Have  you  recently  come 
from  that  city  ? ' ' 

"  Yes,  almost  directly,  I  have  made  stops  of  a  few 
days  in  pretty  towns,  like  yours,  along  the  road." 

That  was  all  that  was  said  to  the  stranger  that 
night.  He  was  assigned  his  room,  and  immediately 
retired.  The  next  morning  he  was  up  bright  and 
early.  He  asked  the  clerk  why  he  saw  so  many  sol 
diers,  and  was  told, — what  he  already  knew — that 
there  was  an  encampment  of  the  state's  militia  in  the 
park.  The  stranger  asked  the  question  because  he 
wished  to  find  out  all  he  could  with  regard  to  the 
encampment.  Then  he  asked  the  clerk  about  some  of 
the  finest  houses,  and  who  owned  them.  He  said  he 
belonged  to  a  real  estate  agency  which  made  it  a  busi 
ness  not  only  to  sell  lots  in  the  city  of  I/.  A.,  but  also 
to  erect  homes  for  purchasers.  Having  a  large  busi 
ness  they  could  compete  with  all  firms  in  the  cheap- 


AND  CITY  OF  IRON  VIGOR.  167 

ness  of  building,  material,  etc.  The  company  to 
which  he  belonged,  also  colonized  government  lands, 
and  bought  large  ranches  which  they  subdivided  and 
sold  to  settlers.  They  were  doing  great  good  to  the 
state  as  well  as  to  poor  people  in  search  of  homes. 
He  was  out  advertising  the  business.  He  made  it  a 
point  to  visit  the  finest  homes  and  take  pictures  of 
them,  and  sometimes  he  was  invited  into  the  interior, 
and  actually  had  made  sketches  of  the  floor  plans  of 
some  of  the  finest  homes  of  the  land.  Many  of  these 
had  already  been  utilized  by  their  architect  in  the  city 
from  which  he  came.  Their  architect  never  took  a 
plan  as  he,  the  agent,  gave  it  to  him;  but  he  always 
improved  it.  Many  persons,  who  afterwards  visited 
his  city,  were  surprised  to  find  homes  almost  like  their 
own,  all  of  which  was  the  result  of  his  work. 

The  clerk  was  interested.  He  gave  him  the  names 
and  places  of  residence  of  some  of  the  wealthiest  of  the 
citizens,  in  whose  possessions  the  strength  of  the  iron- 
mountain  was  making  itself  most  manifest.  The 
stranger  was  careful  to  note  just  how  long  the  encamp 
ment  would  last.  He  said  he  intended  to  visit  it 
before  he  left  for  the  west. 

That  day  our  friend  called  at  some  of  the  places 
designated  by  the  clerk.  He  was  well  dressed,  gener 
ally  rang  the  front  door-bell  when  he  saw  a  home  that 
specially  impressed  him,  and  politely  told  the  person 
who  came  to  the  door  that  he  was  about  to  take  a  pic 
ture  of  the  house.  Sometimes  he  made  only  a  pencil 
sketch.  Sometimes  he  told  the  persons  whose  houses 


i68        "  PETER  GRAY'S  "  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT, 

he  sketched  very  much  of  what  he  told  the  hotel- 
clerk.  Sometimes  he  pointed  out  the  chances  for 
making  money,  by  buying  some  of  the  stock  which  his 
firm  would  soon  place  on  the  market.  He  explained 
that  thus  far  they  had  not  done  it  because  it  had  all 
been  taken  by  private  subscriptions.  He  had  posi 
tively  none  for  sale.  He  showed  some  of  the  pictures 
he  carried  with  him,  of  houses  which  had  already  been 
erected  by  the  firm.  In  this  way  he  begat  confidence 
in  the  people.  This  man  wished  none  of  their  money, 
he  simply  wished  to  see  their  fine  homes,  that  was  all. 
Often  they  would  throw  their  entire  house  open  for 
his  inspection  without  his  asking  the  favor.  Some 
times  when  he  was  specially  anxious  to  know  the 
interior  he  asked  in  a  quiet  way  to  see  some  of  the 
rooms,  or  if  he  thought  this  would  not  do,  he  would 
attain  his  object  by  flattery.  "  A  house  with  as  pretty 
proportions  as  yours,  no  doubt  is  planned  just  as  care 
fully  on  the  interior.  I  trust  the  pretty  external  plan 
is  not  marred  by  the  interior  arrangement.  Did  you 
build  the  house  ?  I  would  infer  that  a  person  of  good 
taste  built  it."  In  this  way  he  had  little  trouble  in 
gaining  access  to  any  home  he  wished  to  enter.  ' '  He 
had  been  told  of  their  home,"  he  would  explain,  "by 

the  clerk  at  the hotel  where  he  was  stopping. ' ' 

The  fact  that  he  was  stopping  at hotel  gave  him 

a  standing  with  those  whom  he  addressed,  although 
he  was  a  stranger.  It  was  simply  another  illustration 
of  what  has  been  said  before,  concerning  the  obeisance 
which  this  age  is  rendering  the  golden  calf. 


AND  CITY  OF  IRON  VIGOR.  169 

By  the  afternoon  following  the  day  upon  which  the 
stranger  had  arrived  in  the  city,  he  had  all  the 
sketches  he  wished.  The  business  upon  which  he 
had  recently  entered  was  comparatively  new  to  him; 
but  he  did  not  think  that  he  could  utilize  more  than 
one  of  the  plans  he  had  made;  at  the  outside,  two 
would  be  all  he  could  manage.  It  was  necessary, 
however,  that  if  anything  should  occur  in  a  home,  that 
he  would  be  able  to  disarm  suspicion  by  having  visited 
a  number  of  homes  in  which  positively  nothing 
occurred  that  could  be  at  all  traced  to  his  art. 

When  he  came  to  the  hotel  that  evening  he  entered 
freely  into  conversation  with  the  clerk  on  the  merits 
of  the  different  homes.  He  found  out  how  many  ser 
vants  their  owners  kept,  when  he  did  not  already 
know  it.  He  also  knew,  after  his  conversation  with 
the  clerk,  the  homes  in  which  there  were  grown  sons. 
He  learned  their  habits,  and  what  not  ?  He  explained 
that  it  always  interested  him  to  know  how  people  in 
different  places  lived.  There  was  such  a  diversity  in 
the  manner  of  life  in  this  great  land  of  ours.  It  was 
no  doubt  owing  to  its  every  variety  of  climate,  soil, 
and  produces. 

The  next  morning  our  friend  took  the  train  to  the 
encampment.  He  had  settled  his  bill  and  told  the 
clerk  that  it  was  not  at  all  likely  that  he  would  return 
to  the  city  in  the  evening.  He  had  given  the  place 
about  all  the  time  he  could  afford.  So  that  was  all 
that  the  clerk  ever  saw  of  ' '  Peter  Gray. ' ' 

On    his    way   to    the    soldiers'    encampment^    the 


170        "  PETER  GRAY'S  "  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT, 

stranger,  who  had  registered  as  ' '  Peter  Gray  ' '  at  the 

hotel  in   the   city  already   described,  was  busy 

debating  whether,  during  his  stay  at  the  encampment, 
it  was  best  for  him  to  be  Peter  Gray  or  Gray  Peter, 
or  some  person  else.  Something  unpleasant  might 
occur  in  camp,  which  would  make  it  necessary  to 
revisit  the  little  city  in  the  valley.  (The  city  in  the 
valley  was  in  the  same  county  as  the  park  to  which 
our  stranger  was  even  then  going.  The  county  jail 
was  there.  Peter  Gray  knew  this;  for  this  reason  he 
was  debating  whether  it  was  best  for  him  to  be 
"  Peter  Gray  "  on  his  arrival  at  the  park.) 

On  his  arrival  at  the  park  he  at  once  made  his  way 
to  the  encampment.  Before  he  left  the  city  he  had 
gone  to  a  wholesale  liquor  store  in  the  place  and  had 
given  the  proprietor  a  little  bottle  of  California  wine 
and  had  handed  him  a  card  therewith,  showing  him 
where  he  could  get  more  of  the  wine  direct,  without  a 
"middle  man,"  and  consequently  cheaper.  In  turn 
he  had  purchased  a  quart  bottle  of  good  old  rye 
whiskey.  He  had  added  a  little  concoction  from  a  vial 
he  carried  in  his  pocket.  On  his  arrival  at  camp  he 
soon  got  in  among  the  boys.  He  became  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  them  in  a  surprisingly  short  time. 
They  had  each  of  them  gotten  a  little  pull  out  of  his 
bottle  to  cool  themselves  after  the  morning  drill,  which 
had  just  closed  before  our  friend  arrived.  He  inter 
ested  them  with  some  of  his  exploits,  all  of  which 
showed  him  brave  and  not  overly  boastful.  They  in  a 
short  time  believed  that  he  was  just  what  he  repre- 


AND  CITY  OF  IRON  VIGOR.  IJl 

sented  himself  to  be,  a  United  States  detective,  after 
some  soldiers  of  the  regular  army  who  had  deserted, 
and  who,  he  had  good  reasons  for  supposing,  were  at 
the  encampment.  "I  just  tell  you  how  it  is,  boys,"  he 
said,  "  when  a  man  has  been  a  soldier  once,  he  can 
scarcely  keep  away  from  camp  life.  In  my  long  ex 
perience  as  a  detective,  I  have  always  succeeded  best 
by  frequenting  camps." 

He  showed  them  some  innocent  tricks  with  cards, 
which,  to  some  of  his  newly  made  friends,  were 
entirely  new.  They  had  gotten  to  betting,  and  had 
lost  in  every  instance.  From  cards  he  went  to  some 
thing  else,  ostensibly  to  amuse  them  and  to  cause  the 
hours  of  camp-life  to  lose  their  ennui.  He  had  not 
asked  anyone  to  bet.  They  had  done  so  nevertheless. 
Some  of  them  had  even  borrowed  money  from  less  haz 
ardous  companions,  and  had  of  course  lost  it.  Finally 
he  said,  "  Oh,  boys,  I  must  go."  He  had  gotten  up 
and  gone  before  any  of  them  had  time  to  realize  that 
they  were  in  the  hands  of  a  sharper.  He  repeated 
this  experiment  at  three  or  four  different  places  in  that 
encampment  of  ten  thousand  soldiers.  He  had  met 
with  no  reverses,  and  all  went  ' '  merry  as  a  marriage 
bell." 

After  he  became  as  well  acquainted  as  he  dared 
in  camp,  he  went  down  into  the  grove.  He  tried  to 
get  acquainted  with  some  of  the  farmers  and  town- 
people  who  had  turned  out  to  see  the  citizen  soldiery; 
but  these  people  he  found  distant.  His  quart  bottle 
was  empty  and  he  had  thrown  it  away.  Per- 


172         "  PETER  GRAY'S  "  VISIT  TO  THE  ENCAMPMENT. 

haps  if  he  still  had  had  some  of  its  contents, 
it  might  have  helped  him  in  his  work.  When 
the  last  train  pulled  out  of  the  station  at  the  grove, 
the  stranger,  who  had  made  himself  so  sociable  in 
the  camp,  and  who  had  gained  not  a  few  friends  in 
the  town  that  showed  the  strength  of  iron  in  every 
fiber  of  its  make  up,  was  on  board.  As  the  train  rolled 
away  he  had  gone  to  the  toilet  room  and  quietly 
counted  his  money.  He  found  that  he  had  exactly 
$79.56  cents.  He  felt  that  he  had  had  a  "  good  day." 
"  All  that  will  come  out  of  it,"  he  added,  "  cannot  be 
told  as  yet.  I  certainly  ought  to  be  able  to  realize 
something  on  these  drawings. ' ' 

When  he  returned  to  his  seat  he  busied  himself  look 
ing  over  the  drawings  of  the  interior  of  some  of  the 
houses,  the  negatives  of  whose  photographs  he  had  in 
his  kodak.  He  had  all  of  his  plans  carefully  num 
bered,  with  the  names  of  the  owners,  the  street  where 
they  were  located,  and  everything  of  interest  "  in  his 
work." 

When  the  train  that  bore  him  from  the  grove 
stopped  at  the  junction,  the  stranger  took  a  train  on 
the  other  road  bound  for  Philadelphia.  From  thence 
he  was  going  to  New  York,  where  we  shall  meet  him 
again. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY. 

"  Fame,  we  may  understand,  is  no  sure  test  of  merit,  but 
only  a  probability  of  such :  it  is  an  accident,  not  a  property  of 
man. ' ' — Carlyle. 

The  pilgrim  to  the  town  of  Bethlehem,  if  he  goes 
from  Jerusalem  to  the  latter  place,  as  nearly  every  one 
does,  has  been  impressed  with  the  sight  of  the  large 
stone  building  which  stands  a  little  to  the  right  of  the 
road  which  leads  to  Bethlehem.  This  large  stone 
building  is  the  Leper  Hospital,  which  was  founded  by 
the  Moravians  some  years  ago.  It  has  been  manned 
by  Moravian  nurses,  and  its  running  expenses  pro 
vided  for  by  that  denomination.  For  years  the  super 
intendent  of  that  institution  has  given  the  poor  leper 
who  has  been  willing  to  submit  to  the  regulations  of 
the  institution,  a  hearty  welcome.  Its  large,  airy  halls, 
its  clean,  white  walls,  its  good,  pure  waters,  and  above 
all,  the  kind  care  of  the  nurses  make  this  building  a 
haven  of  refuge  to  the  creature  afflidled  by  this  dread 
ful  disease.  The  conditions  which  the  trustees  have 
found  it  necessary  to  impose  are  simple,  few,  and  abso 
lutely  necessary  for  the  highest  good  of  the  highest 
number.  The  patient  who  enters  the  walls  of  the 
hospital  is  not  allowed  to  return  to  his  home  again. 

173 


174  A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY. 

If  he  does  he  will  not  be  readmitted.  This  is  done 
'for  the  simple  reason  that  the  nurses  are  glad  when 
they  have  once  cleansed  these  filthy  people.  They  do 
not  care  to  repeat  the  process  oftener  than  they  abso 
lutely  must.  This  condition  is  so  easy  that  one  is 
surprised  that  anybody  afflicted  with  leprosy  should 
consider  it  too  much  to  comply  with  the  demand. 

Another  condition  is  that  all  the  inmates,  when  well 
enough,  attend  religious  worship  in  the  neat  little 
chapel  which  is  fitted  up  on  the  first  floor  of  the  hos 
pital.  The  Mohammedans,  who  compose  most  of  the 
lepers,  are  very  bigoted,  and  consider  the  necessity  of 
attending  Christian  worship  a  severe  burden. 

The  lepers  in  the  hospital  and  outside  of  it  are  in 
every  stage  of  the  disease;  and  of  course  the  duty  of 
attending  to  their  wounds  is  not  a  very  agreeable  one. 
When  once  they  are  in  the  hospital  and  thoroughly 
purified  from  the  filth  which  their  unclean  habits  have 
brought  upon  them,  the  disease,  though  never  cured, 
is  mitigated  in  the  severity  of  its  painfulness  and 
diminished  in  the  rapidity  with  which  it  hurries  its 
victims  to  the  grave.  The  rapidity  with  which  death 
usually  comes,  seems  to  us  to  be  the  only  relief  of  the 
one  afflicted,  who  is  at  all  conscious  of  the  awful- 
ness  of  his  condition.  In  short,  the  sight  of  a  num 
ber  of  lepers  huddled  together  near  a  city  gate, 
as  is  the  case  near  the  gate  on  the  West  side  of  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem,  known  as  the  Joppa  Gate,  or  along 
a  public  highway,  as  is  the  case  with  the  road  which 
leads  along  the  northern  side  of  Jerusalem  and  from 


A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY.  175 

thence   across  the   Kedron   and  along  the  Garden  of 
Gethsemane,  is  one  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Octavia  Newman  had  a  sweet  Christian  friend  in  the 
aforesaid  hospital,  a  number  of  months  already  prior 
to  the  time  we  met  the  camping  party  in  the  Sierras. 
The  two  had  kept  up  their  correspondence,  and 
Octavia  had  learned  not  a  little  with  regard  to  the 
self-denying  work  of  her  friend  in  that  far-away  and 
historic  land.  Her  friend  had  been  actuated  by  but 
one  impulse  when  she  went  to  the  Leper  Hospital. 
That  impulse  was  to  do  the  unfortunate  creatures 
good,  and  study  the  nature  of  the  disease.  She  in  her 
enthusiam  had  said  to  her  friend  Octavia,  ' '  Why  cannot 
some  one  find  out  a  cure  to  heal  this  most  loathsome 
of  all  diseases,  and  why  in  the  Providence  of  God  can 
I  not  be  that  person  ?  If  I  do  not  succeed  in  discover 
ing  a  remedy,  I  will  succeed  in  allaying  the  pain  of 
those  patients  who  come  under  my  care.  Leprosy  is 
not  contagious.  In  all  the  years  that  Europeans  have 
worked  among  them  not  many  have  become  diseased. 
Of  all  the  Moravians  who  lived  among  them ,  bound 
up  their  wounds,  washed  their  garments,  and  minis 
tered  to  all  their  wants,  none  of  them  have  taken  the 
malady."  This  sweet-hearted  girl  had  in  her  last  letter 
told  Octavia  that  one  of  the  nurses  for  other  reasons 
than  those  incident  to  her  work  was  about  to  return  to 
Europe.  She  would  perhaps  never  return.  Why 
could  not  Octavia  come  and  take  her  place  ?  She  had 
found  the  work  on  the  whole  just  about  as  agreeable 
as  hospital  work  generally  was.  The  gratitude  of 


176  A  CURE  FOR  I.EPROSY. 

those  whom  she  was  instrumental  in  relieving  of  their 
sufferings,  though  it  was  but  for  a  time,  made  up  for 
the  lack  of  wages.  Then,  too,  the  fact  that  she  was 
permitted  to  reside  so  near  the  Holy  City  which  has 
been  the  centre  from  which  the  most  glorious  civiliza 
tion  of  which  the  world  has  ever  known,  eminated; 
that  she  was  actually  permitted  to  walk  where  the  Son 
of  God  had  walked,  were  privileges  which  compensated 
her  for  all  the  self-denial  her  work  involved.  "  Do  not 
think,  my  dear  Octavia,"  she  added,  "that  we  pine 
for  lack  of  society  in  Jerusalem.  All  the  year  some  of 
the  most  learned  and  wealthiest  men  and  women  dwell 
in  or  near  the  city  of  Jerusalem.  For  three  months  al 
most,  the  city  is  thronged  with  pilgrims,  who  have 
literally  come  from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth. 
Many  of  these  are  men  and  women  of  culture,  who 
deem  a  visit  to  the  hospital  a  privilege,  and  who  al 
ways  leave  their  cards.  I  have  in  the  short  time  I  am 
out  here  made  friends  with  some  of  the  best  and  most 
refined  people  I  have  ever  met  anywhere.  Then  too, 
the  climate  is  delightful.  Since  I  received  your  letter 
written  in  the  very  shadows  of  the  Sierras,  written  in 
February,  when  the  streams  in  the  east  are  frozen  and 
the  winds  howl  and  sting,  I  notice  that  you  have 
learned  to  appreciate  a  winter  not  quite  so  rigorous  as 
the  two  we  spent  on  Blackwell's  Island  together.  I 
could  appreciate  all  you  said  about  the  snow-capped 
mountains  in  the  distance  whilst  you  were  writing  with 
the  perfume  of  the  richest  flowers  scenting  the  air 


A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY.  177 

around  you.  All  this  is  so  like  our  own  experience 
here,  that  you  would  highly  appreciate  the  change. 

"  Then,  too,  you  must  remember  that  the  dells  of 
Sonora  never  produced  love-songs  as  sweet  as  those  of 
the  vale  of  Solomon.  The  breezes  of  California  have 
never  played  with  the  dark  locks  of  Heaven's  inspired 
prophets.  Say  what  you  will,  Jerusalem  is  already 
dear  to  me;  dear  because  of  its  history;  dear  because  of 
its  promises  for  the  future;  dear  because  I  am  here  en 
gaged  in  the  very  work  which  the  Master  himself  did 
when  on  earth  aye,  when  on  these  very  hill-sides,  and  in 
these  very  vales.  Come  to  me,  Octavia.  If  you  still  thirst 
for  fame,  here  is  ample  opportunity  to  gain  a  deathless 
reputation.  Should  you  discover  a  remedy  infallible 
and  sure  for  this  awful  disease,  your  r.ame  will  go 
down  to  posterity,  and  children's  children  will  call  you 
blessed.  Since  I  am  face  to  face  with  all  the  hideous- 
ness  of  thib  disease,  the  more  I  feel  that  God  has 
ordained  that  the  nineteenth  century,  which  has  done 
so  much  to  lift  the  burden  of  sorrow  from  the  shoulders 
of  humanity,  will  also  permit  one  of  her  sons  or 
daughters  to  discover  a  cure,  yes,  a  cure,  my  Odlavia, 
for  this  most  loathsome  disease. ' ' 

In  this  strain  the  girl  went  on  until  Octavia  finally 
came  to  the  last  line.  Then  she  dropped  the  letter 
into  her  lap,  and  said  to  herself,  "Well,  the  adlual 
experience  has  not  cooled  her  zeal.  She  seems  all  on 
fire  with  her  mission.  What  care  I  for  the  nonsense 
she  writes  about  the  '  Holy  City  '  and  '  the  footsteps 
of  the  Son  of  God.'  I  would  go  in  a  minute,  if  I 


178  A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY. 

knew  that  I  could  be  that  '  daughter  of  the  nineteenth 
century '  who  will  discover  a  cure  for  '  the  most 
loathsome  of  diseases.'  '  Miss  Octavia  Newman, 
M.  D.,  discovered  a  remedy  for  the  actual  cure  of  that 
disease  which  has  hitherto  baffled  the  highest  skill  of 
medical  science.'  Assure  me  of  that,  my  little  friend, 
and  I  am  off  for  Jerusalem  by  the  next  steamer.  I 
wish  no  higher  glory  than  that." 

Then  she  asked  herself  about  her  fortune.  The  cup 
of  happiness  from  which  she  had  so  eagerly  slaked  her 
thirst  for  the  last  few  weeks  since  she  had  received 
the  letter  of  Mr.  Baer,  would,  she  replied  to  herself, 
be  bitter  dregs  beside  the  glory,  the  fame,  that  would 
be  sure  to  become  the  lot  of  any  person  who  would 
discover  a  cure  for  leprosy,  consumption,  or  any  of  the 
incurable  diseases  which  now  hurry  off  their  victims 
from  the  stage  of  action.  But  how  about  Mr.  Sharp 
himself?  Would  he  be  honest  enough  to  be  entrusted 
with  her  wealth  ?  Would  he  send  her  faithfully  the 
income  from  her  investments  ?  How  would  it  do  to 
establish  a  hospital  with  her  fortune  on  the  plains  of 
Bethlehem,  instead  of  in  New  York  ?  It  took  her  only 
a  moment  to  decide  that  that  was  all  stuff  and  non 
sense  for  her.  Where  would  her  wealthy  patients  come 
from,  to  pay  her  for  her  staff  of  physicians,  which  she 
would  employ  wherever  she  would  establish  a  hospi 
tal  ?  Could  she  not  take  Mr.  Sharp  along  ?  If  any 
where  a  free  and  independent  woman  needed  a  hus 
band  to  take  care  of  her,  it  would  be  among  the  wild 
Arabs  of  the  desert,  as  she  called  the  people  dwelling 


A  CURE  FOR  IvEPROSY.  179 

round  about  Jerusalem.  Mr.  Sharp  could  find  enough 
to  do  in  his  profession  in  Jerusalem.  He  no  doubt 
knew  the  laws  of  the  Turkish  empire  as  well  as  he 
knew  the  laws  of  Nebraska.  Perhaps  he  could  buy  a 
tradl  of  land  near  the  Holy  City,  as  her  friend  called 
Jerusalem,  and  lay  it  out  in  building  lots,  and  boom 
the  old  town.  It  had  a  splendid  climate,  and  good 
fruits  could  no  doubt  be  raised  there  as  well  as  any 
where.  The  same  posters  which  he  had  used  to  sell 
Los  Angeles  propert}7  would  also  do  to  sell  the  lots  at 
Jerusalem.  Those  posters  made  climate  one  of  the 
strong  incentives  for  buying.  They  really  sold  climate 
in  LOS  Angeles,  Sharp  had  told  her,  and  threw  the 
land  in  to  clinch  the  bargain.  She  did  not  know  that 
all  her  plans  would  work,  but  she  would  consider  them 
and  discuss  them  with  Mr.  Sharp.  Should  she  tell  the 
Dives  what  she  thought  of  doing  ?  Would  they  be 
able  to  enter  into  her  lofty  thoughts  and  sublime 
aspirations  ?  She  would  try  them  as  soon  as  she  had 
time  to  discuss  the  matter  thoroughly. 

In  the  midst  of  her  plans  she  was  called  to  dinner. 
The  three  had  hardly  been  seated  before  Octavia 
began,  "  I  have  had  such  a  delightful  letter  this 
morning."  She  said,  "You  remember  the  friend  I 
told  you  of  who  has  gone  to  Jerusalem  ?  "  (The  girls 
remembered  her. )  ' '  Well,  this  friend  tells  me  that 
there  will  soon  be  a  vacancy  in  the  hospital.  She  says 
a  skillful  nurse  will  be  required,  and  that  I  would  just 
be  the  person.  She  talks  about  the  splendid  possibil 
ities  of  the  country  and  the  historical  associations — ' ' 


180  A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY. 

"And  the  dirty,  greasy  Arabs,  and  the  muezzin 
sounded  from  the  minaret,  and  the  robbers,  and  the 
lepers,"  interrupted  Jennie. 

"You  please  allow  me  to  say  that  she  assures  me 
that  those  people,  though  they  have  not  had  the  same 
advantages  you  and  I  have  had,  Jennie,  have  better 
manners  than  some  people  in  New  York." 

"Jennie  Dives,  for  instance,"  said  Susan  Dives. 
"  It  serves  you  right,  sister,  you  ought  to  let  people 
finish  before  you  give  your  comments."  Then,  turn 
ing  to  Octavia,  "  And  what  else  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  spoke  of  the  climate,  the  society — " 

"  The  society!  "  again  interrupted  Jennie. 

"  Yes,  the  society,"  said  Octavia,  "  for  you  must 
know  that  the  people  are  not  all  ignorant,  just  as  in 
this  country  the  people  are  not  all  refined  and  polite, 
even  where  we  would  most  expect  to  find  them  such." 
Octavia  always  did  hate  this  Jennie  Dives'  sarcasm  and 
contradictions.  She  had  once  told  her  that  if  she  had 
known  for  whom  she  was  spending  her  strength  and 
losing  her  rest,  she  would  have  let  her  die.  Of  course 
Jennie  had  taken  this  retort  from  the  nurse  as  a  good- 
humored  joke,  even  though  she  was  not  quite  sure  but 
that  the  nurse  meant  it. 

Then  Octavia  told  her  scheme  as  far  as  she  had 
thought  it  over,  more  to  get  the  opinion  of  the  elder 
sister  than  to  boast  of  what  she  hoped  to  do.  If  she 
really  had  made  up  her  mind  she  would  not  have  said 
a  word  to  the  girls  until  the  last  moment.  She  had  as 


A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY.  l8l 

yet  not  told  them  about  the  estate  which  had  been 
willed  her. 

When  she  had  finished,  Jennie  Dives  looked  at  her 
sister,  and  shutting  the  eye  opposite  to  Octavia,  said, 
"  That  is  a  scheme  worthy  of  the  gods!  Won't  you 
take  me  along?  I  might  be  able  to  make  an  impres 
sion  on  an  Arab  sheik.  I  would  make  a  nice  queen  of 
the  desert.  By  and  by  I  would  travel  with  Barnum 
and  be  his  gipsy  fortune-teller,  and  my  husband  would 
lead  the  parade. ' ' 

Neither  Susan  nor  Octavia  paid  any  attention  to 
this  harangue.  Susan  said,  "Your  friend  went  to 
Palestine  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  from  what  you 
have  told  me  now,  and  on  former  occasions,  I  believe 
her  to  be  a  devoted  Christian.  You  would  go  for 
fame.  Even  then,  if  you  were  sure  that  you  could  dis 
cover  a  cure  for  leprosy,  you  would  deserve  commend 
ation;  but  if  you  failed,  as  all  heretofore  have  failed, 
how  would  you  bear  your  disappointment  ?  ' ' 

Ah,  if  she  should  fail.  Odlavia  had  not  thought 
about  that.  She  said:  "  I  usually  make  up  my  mind 
not  to  fail  when  I  undertake  a  thing. ' ' 

Octavia  was  right  in  that.  She  generally  did  not 
fail  when  she  once  made  up  her  mind  to  succeed. 
That  was  the  one  redeeming  faculty  in  her  make-up. 
Thus  far  it  had  kept  her  from  falling  into  the  hands  of 
her  folly,  which  has  already  been  made  so  prominent 
in  this  narrative.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  this 
faculty  will  be  able  to  hold  the  field  and  gain  the  day 
for  which  her  ambition  is  trying  to  prepare  her.  Will 


182  A  CURE  FOR  LEPROSY. 

not  this  only  strong  point,  too,  succumb  to  the  enemy 
and  fly  when  all  will  depend  upon  it  ? 

Odlavia  said  no  more  about  her  scheme  just  then, 
for  she  had  not  even  considered  it  in  earnest.  She 
had  only  looked  upon  it  as  a  possibility.  As  the  girls 
were  going  from  the  table  Odlavia  was  called  for.  A 
woman,  very  much  excited,  had  called  for  the  nurse 
to  attend  her  child  lying  dangerously  ill  with  scarlet 
fever.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  ready,  having  left 
her  address  for  any  who  might  call,  with  the  elder  of 
the  Dives.  Octavia,  when  asked  by  Jennie  whether 
she  was  not  afraid  to  nurse  a  case  of  scarletena, 
replied,  "  I  am  afraid  of  nothing."  We  have  already 
seen  that  she  was  not  afraid  where  fear  was  most  neces 
sary,  and  a  real  coward  where  it  required  no  moral 
heroism  to  be  courageous. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS. 

Do  evil  deeds  thus  quickly  come  to  end  ? 
O,  that  the  vain  remorse  which  must  chastise 
Crimes  done,  had  but  as  loud  a  voice  to  warn 
As  its  keen  sting  is  mortal  to  avenge. — Shelley. 

About  one  month  after  Mr.  Sharp  had  been  ap 
pointed  her  attorney  by  Miss  Octavia,  he  called  again 
at  the  home  of  the  Dives.  Octavia  had  not  returned 
from  the  sick-room  to  which  she  had  been  summoned 
the  day  she  was  discussing  her  plans  with  regard  to 
the  feasibility  of  becoming  a  nurse  in  the  I/eper  Hos 
pital  at  Jerusalem.  We  should  remark  that  Mr. 
Sharp  had  called  upon  her  once  in  the  meantime,  but 
had  not  found  her  at  home.  He  had  then  promptly 
written  to  her,  telling  her  that  he  had  written  to  Mr. 
Bear  at  Omaha,  and  that  he  had  perfected  his  plans 
for  transferring  her  inheritance  to  her. 

When  Mr.  Sharp  found  that  Miss  Odlavia  was  not 
in,  he  inquired  whether  he  could  see  the  cook.  The 
chamber-maid,  who  was  also  the  waiter  at  the  table, 
and  who  went  to  the  door  whenever  one  of  the  Dives 
girls  did  not  go  themselves,  went  to  the  servant's 
room  back  of  the  kitchen,  and  quietly  knocking  at  the 
door,  the  cook  opened  it.  When  he  saw  the  girl. a 
frown  swept  over  his  face,  which  was  as  quickly 
changed  into  a  smile  when  Mr.  Sharp's  card  was 

183 


184  SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS. 

handed  him.  He  at  once  told  the  girl  to  bring  him  to 
the  door  which  led  into  his  room  directly  from  the 
outside,  the  girl  did  not  bring  Mr.  Sharp,  but  in  a 
very  dignified  manner  directed  him  where  he  could 
find  the  door  leading  to  the  cook's  apartment.  Sharp 
received  His  directions  with  a  smiling  face,  not  because 
he  was  amused  at  the  dignity  the  girl  assumed,  but 
because  he  wished  to  see  the  cook  in  his  den,  where 
there  would  be  none  to  molest  or  to  make  them  afraid. 
He  wished  to  have  a  long  chat  with  the  cook. 

The  Dives  did  not  know  that  the  cook  and  Sharp 
had  been  acquainted  prior  to  the  journey  to  the 
Sierras.  Such,  however,  was  the  case.  Mr.  Sharp 
had  met  the  cook  for  the  first  time  in  the  L,.  A. 
jail.  When  Sharp  practiced  law  he  made  it  a  point 
"  to  help  the  unfortunate;"  he  would  go  to  prison  and 
to  judgment  with  the  accused,  not,  however,  for  the 
sake  of  the  accused  near  so  much  as  for  what  was  ' '  in 
it"  for  him. 

The  cook  had  been  in  the  toils  charged  with  the 
crime  of  having  entered  a  house  when  the  owner  was 
not  at  home,  and  taking  therefrom  a  number  of  "  use 
ful  and  ornamental  articles,"  as  he  confessed  to  Sharp 
after  he  was  acquitted.  He  had  succeeded  in  proving 
an  alabi,  by  means  of  some  of  his  friends,  whose  oath 
was  about  as  good  as  their  credit.  By  the  same  per 
sons  he  had  proven  that  the  watch  and  ring  belonging 
to  the  persons  whose  house  had  been  robbed,  had  been 
purchased  by  him  from  a  man  who  was  more  than  sus 
pected,  because  he  had  been  hanging  around  the 


SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PI^ANS.  185 

premises  for  a  number  of  days  before  the  robbery  oc 
curred.  This  person  could  not  be  found  after  the  rob 
bery.  Mr.  Sharp  had  visited  the  cook  and  had 
planned  his  defense  after  he  had  heard  his  statement. 
He  would  not  have  succeeded  in  having  him  acquitted 
had  it  not  been  that  he  claimed  to  have  bought  a 
ticket  at  the  Santa  Fe  depot  for  a  certain  place  in 
company  with  the  ladies  who  had  sworn  that  they 
were,  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  in  an  adjoining 
town  with  people  who  confirmed  their  evidence,  be 
cause  they  were  paid  to  do  it,  and  were  no  better  than 
they.  The  ticket  agent  thought  that  he  had  sold  the 
cook  a  ticket,  or  at  least  a  man  who  looked  very  much 
like  him.  With  the  agent  it  had  been  a  case  of  mis 
taken  identity,  with  the  others  a  deliberate  lie.  Sharp 
had  boasted  to  the  fat  cook  that  no  body  else  in  all  the 
city  would  have  been  able  to  save  him  from  going  to 
penitentiary.  We  have  thought  it  important  to  dwell 
on  the  manner  of  the  formation  of  the  acquaintance 
which  the  two  men  had. 

The  cook  had  come  out  of  his  room  on  the  evening 
of  Sharp's  visit  and  had  welcomed  him  heartily.  To 
gether  the  two  entered,  still  holding  each  other  by  the 
hand.  When  inside  of  the  room  and  the  door  closed, 
the  cook  said  to  the  attorney:  "  I  have  not  seen  you 
for  ja  long  time.  Why  did  you  not  come  to  see  me 
when  you  called  at  the  house  the  other  time  you  were 
here,  and  that  girl  that  you  are  after  was  not'  at 
home?  I  could  have  entertained  you  in  her  ab 
sence." 


1 86  SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS. 

Sharp  replied  that  he  had  once  thought  of  calling  on 
him  to  see  whether  he  could  loan  him  some  money; 
but  he  thought  that  it  would  be  no  use.  ' '  To  tell 
you  the  truth  I  was  hard  up  just  then.  I  had  only 
two  and  one-half  dollars  to  my  name  in  cash  that 
night.  I  have  had  better  times  since  then,  and  now  I 
am  flush  again."  He  told  the  cook  how  he  had  played 
with  ten  dollars  until  he  had  lost  five,  and  was  afraid 
to  risk  the  other  five,  how  he  had  found  "fifty  dollars 
in  the  hall  of  that  same  place  in  which  he  had  lost  his 
five. 

"  I  guess  you  found  it  ?  "  said  the  cook  half  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  Yes,  I  found  it  near  a  fellow  on  the  sofa  outside 
of  the  crowd.  He  was  very  tired  and  sleepy;  because 
he  had  worked  hard,  as  I  myself  had  seen,  so  I  did 
not  disturb  him  to  ask  him  whether  it  was  really  his 
or  whether  he  cared  that  I  had  it." 

' '  Where  have  you  been  since  then  ?  You  certainly 
have  not  gone  to  the  coast  in  this  time  and  back 
again,  have  you?"  inquired  the  cook. 

"  No,  I  did  not  go  to  the  coast,  nor  is  it  probable 
that  I  ever  will  go  again.  My  property  is  about  all 
gone.  I  have  had  the  worst  luck  for  the  last  half  year 
I  have  ever  heard  of  any  one  having;  everything  has 
gone  against  me.  I  have  some  paper  yet,  but  I  would 
give  that  for  half  of  its  face  value.  It  does  not 
amount  to  over  two  thousand  dollars  all  told." 

"  Easy  comes,  easy  goes,"  said  the  cook. 

"  It  does  not  come  so  easy  now,"  replied  the  attor- 


SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PI^ANS.  187 

ney.  "  I  have  just  taken  a  trip  to  Pennsylvania, 
which,  for  short,  quick  work,  promises  to  pay  about 
as  well  as  anything.  The  fadl  is,  I  have  already 
reaped  from  that  little  sowing  expedition,  and  if  I  am 
a  judge,  it  has  just  begun  to  pay." 

"  Yes  ?     A  little  real  estate  scheme  ?  " 

"  Rather  personal  property,  I  think,"  replied  Sharp. 

The  cook  was  nonplused.  He  knew  that  Sharp  was 
a  gambler,  a  libertine,  and  would  scarely  scruple  to  do 
anything  mean  and  unlawful  that  promised  him  an 
income,  but  he  did  not  degrade  him  to  the  level 
upon  which  he  himself  had  stood  when  Sharp 
found  him  and  helped  him  out  of  his  trouble.  The 
very  horror  at  his  own  situation  just  then  was  still  in 
his  mind,  and  because  he  had  felt  how  a  criminal  feels 
when  at  last  Nemesis  is  on  his  heels,  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  would  never  again  do  anything  for 
which  he  could  be  apprehended.  Could  it  be  that  the 
man  who  had  once  defended  him  against  the  law  had 
now  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  criminal  ?  After  these 
thoughts  had  gone  through  his  head,  he  again  said, 
"Yes?" 

Sharp  paid  no  attention  to  this  assent  which  was 
really  an  interrogation  on  the  part  of  the  cook.  He 
new  fixed  his  snake-eyes  fully  upon  the  cook  and 
whilst  the  other  was  being  charmed  by  the  glare,  he 
asked  him,  "  Have  you  met  any  of  the  boys  since  you 
are  in  the  city  ?  "  Then  Sharp  smiled  one  of  his  dog- 
smiles.  His  thin  lips  stretched  until  he  showed  a  row 


i88  SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PI.ANS. 

of  white,  grinning  teeth.  The  cook  did  not  under 
stand  his  question,  so  he  said,  "The  boys ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  folks  who  helped  you  out  of  the  scrape 
ln  the  West  by  getting  the  girls  to  say  that  you  were 
with  them  when  you  really  were  going  through  the 
house  on Street." 

"GreatG are   they   here?     Then    I  am  lost;" 

and  a  visible  tremor  stole  through  the  frame  of  the 
man  whose  eyes  were  still  staring  into  the  eyes  of  the 
serpent  whose  charm  he  could  not  resist. 

"  You  are  lost?  I  should  rather  say  you  are  found. 
Man,  they  are  engaged  in  the  best  business  I  ever  saw 
fellows  of  your  stripe  engaged  in."  "Of  my  stripe? 

Yes  I  am  still  a  thief,   and  a  !  Oh  horrors!  Why 

can  I  not  be  what  I  once  was  ?  How  is  it  that  where- 
ever  I  go,  there  someone  who  knows  something  of  my 
evil  deeds  must  find  me  ?  What  business  are  they  in 
now,  pray?  They  had  better  watch.  There  is  no 
desert  here  in  which  to  hide.  What  new  evil  can  they 
be  perpetrating  ?  ' ' 

"  You  speak  like  a  saint"  was  Sharp's  sneering 
reply,  "you  have  turned,  have  you  ?  I  have  always 
heard,  that  when  the  devil  gets  old  he  becomes  a  monk. 
You  wait  until  you  are  not  so  goody  good  as  I  find  you 
to-night.  Perhaps  I  will  take  you  to  see  them.  I 
wanted  to  talk  business  to  you." 

The  cook  thought  a  while  before  he  made  a  reply. 
Could  he  do  anything  to  withstand  the  evil  impulses 
which  for  more  than  ten  years  had  been  upon  him? 
Here  in  this  quiet  home  of  the  pure  girls  he  had  found 


SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS.  189 

rest  from  everything  but  his  own  conscience.  He  had 
hoped  that  by  and  by  this  accuser  which  seemed  more 
vehement  than  his  enemies,  would  give  him  rest. 
Was  there  really  no  use  for  him  to  try  to  build  a  new 
life  out  of  the  shattered  remains  of  the  old  ?  Sharp 
watched  him  as  this  battle  went  on  in  his  soul.  A 
smile  of  satisfaction  puckered  his  lips  out  of  the  dog 
gish  grin  they  had  worn,  when  he  saw  a  look  of  sullen 
despair  settle  upon  the  features  of  the  poor  fellow 
before  him.  When  he  noticed  this,  he  went  on:  "I 
had  a  little  job  right  in  your  old  line.  It  is  out  of  the 
city.  You  can  take  a  leave  of  absence  of  two  days, 
and  be  home  in  your  place  without  the  shadow  of  a 
suspicion  resting  upon  you.  Who  would  think  of  any 
body  in  that  business  behind  the  neat  red  walls  of 
this  house?  Why  it  looks  like  a  regular  convent.  If 
you  do  not  wish  to  enter  the  business,  your  friends 
will.  But  do  not  become  too  saintly,  or  you  will  lose 
your  place  anyhow. ' ' 

(Had  only  the  poor  cook  defied  him  as  Sharp  sat  and 
once  more  riveted  his  snake  eyes  upon  him.  The 
cook  alas!  had  gone  far  from  the  path  of  virtue.  A 
cry  similar  to  the  one  the  thief  upon  the  cross  made, 
would  have  helped  him,  rescued  him,  but  this  he  did 
not  make.)  He  finally  said,  "  L,et  us  hear  your  busi 
ness,  and  if  it  is  not  too  mean  for  a  white  man  to  un 
dertake,  why  I  am  your  man." 

Thereupon  the  attorney  pulled  out  a  little  roll  of 
papers.  He  took  two  from  the  roll  and  returned  the 
remainder  to  his  pocket.  Then,  still  holding  the  two, 


190  SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS. 

he  reached  into  his  other  pocket  and  drew  out  a  little 
bunch  of  photographs.  "You  did  not  know  that  I 
entered  a  new  sphere — architecture  and  mechanical 
drawing"  — he  said,  as  he  laid  the  pictures  and  the 
papers  on  the  little  stand  before  the  cook. 

First  he  took  the  photographs  and  holding  them  in 
front  of  the  cook  he  said,  "  There,  what  do  you  think 
of  that  for  the  work  of  an  amateur  ?  ' '  The  pictures 
were  good,  it  is  true.  One  represented  a  stone  house 
surrounded  by  a  beautiful  yard.  The  house  was  ele 
vated  above  the  street.  Everything  about  the  place 
wore  an  air  of  elegance.  The  other  was  also  the  pic 
ture  of  a  house  built  of  stone.  It  was  larger  than  the 
former.  It  stood  on  a  level  with  the  street  and  had 
large  porches  on  the  two  sides  which  fronted  on  the 
streets.  Both  houses  were  on  corners." 

' '  These  two  homes  are  only  four  squares  from  each 

other,  in  the  town  of  about  two-hundred  miles 

from  this  city.  I  was  in  both  of  them.  I  saw  enough 
silver- ware  in  them  to  load  a  two-horse  dray.  I  met 
the  daughter  of  the  codger  that  lives  in  this  one,  point 
ing  to  the  house  standing  on  a  level  with  the  street. 
She  had  a  thousand  dollars  worth  of  diamonds  on  her 
hand." 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  them  with  you,  chuckled 
the  cook?" 

Sharp  paid  no  attention  to  the  remark.  He  went  on, 
"  Here  is  the  plan  of  the  rooms  of  this  same  house. 
Here  are  the  doors.  This  is  the  library.  There  is  a 
small  safe  in  the  room  standing  here  (he  pointed 


SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PI,ANS.  191 

where  he  had  made  the  I,etter  S) ;  but  it  would  not 
pay  you  to  fool  any  time  on  the  bit  of  a  rat's  nest.  The 
man  is  a  lumber  merchant  and  takes  his  money  to 
bank  late  every  evening.  The  other  house  is  the  one 
you  had  better  try  first.  It  will  be  the  easier.  There 
is  only  one  man  in  the  house  here.  The  other  has 
several.  They  are  bothersome  in  your  business,  are 
they  not?  " 

The  cook  replied  by  asking  whether  he  (Sharp) 
would  like  to  risk  his  life  for  an  uncertainty.  What 
assurance  had  he  that  after  taking  the  long  journey 
there  would  be  any  outcome,  with  perhaps  the  excep 
tion  of  the  loss  of  blood,  and  two  or  three  years  in 
in  some  quiet  out  of  the  way  place  where  there  is  no 
amusement  and  nothing  but  "work!  work!"  and 
curses  for  the  pay  ?  ' '  Why  did  you  not  try  it  when 
you  were  there?  It  would  have  saved  you  the  rail 
road  fare  to  go  a  second  time,  and  no  one  would  have 
suspected  you." 

Sharp  felt  the  justice  of  the  sarcasm  and  made  no 
reply;  but  took  up  the  papers  as  if  examining  them. 
He  really  felt  that  he  was  a  coward  and  had  the  soul 
of  a  goose  in  everything  but  innocence,  though  he 
tried  to  impress  the  poor  tool  before  him  with  his 
bravery,  wit  and  cunning.  He  found  that  this  man 
whom  he  considered  an  easy  dope  had  really  done  as 
his  mother-in-law  had  done  some  years  before,  whilst 
he  was  masking  in  the  skin  of  a  lion  she  had  discov 
ered  the  bray  of  the  ass.  Without  saying  anything 
more  he  took  out  the  other  potographs  and  putting 


192  SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PI,ANS. 

these  two  with  them,  he  put  all  of  them  into  his 
pocket.  He  did  the  same  with  the  papers.  Then  he 
turned  his  eyes  on  the  cook  once  more.  He  gave  him 
a  steady,  snaky  look  which  finally  convinced  him  that 
as  a  serpent  he  would  better  flee  from  the  presence  of 
a  man  who  though  vile  as  he,  was  more  cunning.  At 
last  he  said  "  You  will  not  go  ?  " 

"  Not  for  an  uncertainty.  By  to-morrow  evening  I 
can  find  one-thousand  places  that  promise  more  than 
either  of  those,  and  I  need  not  go  ten  miles.  Yes,  I 
need  not  go  outside  of  this  house  to  find  at  least  one." 

An  idea  struck  Sharp  as  this  last  sentence  of  the 
cook  left  his  dry,  hot  mouth.  "In  this  house!" 
What  a  grand  possibility !  What  all  it  might  mean  to 
the  man  who  was  smart  enough!  He  said  nothing  in 
reference  to  what  he  thought;  but  again  putting  on 
his  snaky  look,  he  said  to  the  cook,  "  Will  you  go  for 
fifty  dollars  ?  There  is  no  uncertainty  in  fifty  dollars? 
If  you  promise  me  to  do  your  best  to  make  a  good  job 
of  the  one,  and  if  time  permits  will  try  the  other  also, 
I  will  give  you  fifty  dollars.  I  will  take  the  plunder, 
and  see  that  I  make  money  out  of  it.  What  do  you 
say  ?  Will  you  do  it  ?  Here  is  the  money  (pulling 
out  the  remains  of  tire  $79.56  he  had  "made  "  in  that 
very  neighborhood,  he  counted  out  fifty  dollars.)  I 
mean  business." 

The  cook  looked  at  him  a  little,  then  said,  "  Who 
will  help?  One  man  cannot  do  it." 

"  I  will  furnish  you  a  man.     Do  not  worry.     That 


SOME  OF  SHARP'S  PLANS.  193 

will  be  all  right.  Will  you  go?  If  you  don't,  there 
are  some  who  will." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me?  " 

There  was  the  old  sarcasm  he  had  heard  from  those 
lips  before.  Certainly  this  fellow  whom  he  had  once 
saved  from  the  penitentiary  did  not  take  his  attorney 
to  be  a  house-breaker,  a  sneak-thief,  perhaps  a  mur 
derer.  "Yet  what  else  are  you,  Sharp?"  a  voice  asked 
him.  It  spoke  out  of  the  depth  of  his  depraved  na 
ture.  It  startled  him.  He  heard  it  as  he  used  to  hear 
the  gentle  reproving  voice  of  his  now  sainted  mother. 
"  What  else  are  you,  Sharp?"  the  voice  persisted. 
Yes,  "his  false  pretexts  and  varnished  colors  were 
failing."  He  began  to  see  that  he  was  on  the  edge  of 
the  last  precipice.  He  realized  that  he  had  already 
fallen;  but  like  some  Alpine  climber  who  knows 
that  the  rope  which  held  him  to  his  companions  has 
broken  and  the  slip  he  made  was  really  a  fall  which 
landed  him  at  the  last  precipice  that  separates  him 
from  the  last  judgment,  makes  one  more  effort  to  save 
himself  from  the  final  plunge  and — fails  in  that  effort; 
so  Sharp  realized  that  he  had  fallen,  fallen  far,  and  that 
this  voice  in  his  soul  was  admonishing  him  against  the 
last  fatal  plunge. 

He  gathered  his  hat  and  coat  into  his  arms  and  said, 
' '  So  you  will  not  undertake  it  without  me  ?  ' '  and 
opened  the  dour  of  the  little  room,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

VERY  SICK. 
"  Night  brings  out  stars  as  sorrow  shows  us  truth." — Bailey. 

The  day  the  nurse  left  the  Dives  with  the  lady  who 
had  the  sick  child,  she  went  directly  to  the  little  suf 
ferer's  bedside  and  remained  there  until  she  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  it  convalescent.  The  excite 
ment  of  the  last  few  months  had  completely  unnerved 
the  poor  woman,  so  that  she  was  not  as  strong  as  she 
should  have  been  when  she  went.  We  need  not  be 
surprised,  therefore,  to  learn  that  she  herself  began  to 
show  the  symptoms  of  the  same  disease.  There  are 
some  physicians  who  can  never  attend  a  virulent  case 
of  scarlet  fever  without  feeling  some  of  the  symptoms 
of  the  disease.  When  Octavia  first  noticed  that  she 
was  getting  a  sore  throat  she  took  a  good  dose  of  bella 
donna  in  the  evening  on  retiring;  but  she  had  a  rest 
less  night,  in  which  she  dreamt  that  Sharp  had  come 
to  her  with  his  usual  smile,  expressive  of  satisfaction, 
telling  her  that  he  had  transferred  the  property  to  her, 
and  that  everything  was  now  satisfactorily  adjusted. 
When  she  had  thanked  him  and  asked  to  know  his  fee, 
he  had  told  her  that  she  herself,  given  to  him  soul  and 
body,  was  the  only  fee  he  could  accept.  He  had  fixed 
his  old  snaky-look  upon  her  as  he  had  said  this.  She 
194 


VERY  SICK.  195 

had  turned  her  eyes  from  him  to  avoid  his  piercing 
gaze.  When  she  looked  again  he  had  turned  into  a 
deadly  serpent  coiled  beside  her  on  the  bench  upon 
which  she  fancied  they  were  sitting.  The  serpent's 
head  towered  high  above  her  own,  with  tongue  ex 
tended  ready  to  strike  her.  She  awoke  with  a  shud 
der.  She  found  herself  feverish,  and  her  throat  even 
sorer  than  it  had  been  in  the  evening.  From  that 
time  until  morning  she  slept  only  little,  restless  cat 
naps. 

That  day  Octavia's  fever  grew  worse.  She  realized 
that  her  own  case  had  passed  beyond  her  control,  and 
at  once  had  her  friend  telephone  for  the  ambulance  to 
convey  her  to  the  hospital.  The  superintendent  lost 
no  time  in  sending  for  Octavia.  She  was  examined 
and  it  was  found  that  she  had  a  virulent  type  of  scar 
let-fever.  She  was  put  into  the  ward  for  patients  at 
tacked  with  contagious  diseases,  and  the  best  medical 
skill  was  employed  on  the  case.  For  nearly  two  weeks 
she  was  delirious,  and  when  at  last  the  fever  was 
broken  she  was  extremely  weak.  Even  the  physician 
who  attended  her  had  his  doubts  whether  she  would 
pull  through.  She  herself  seemed  to  realize  her  con 
dition.  She  had  thought  of  Sharp,  and  would  have 
summoned  him,  but  she  did  not  know  his  address. 
She  felt  that  if  she  must  die,  she  would  like  to  leave  a 
message  for  Sharp,  and  for  her  mother  and  her  brother 
I^ee. 

"  Affliction,  like  the  iron-smith,  shapes  as  it  smites." 
It  affects  the  soul  as  well  as  the  intellect,  the  affections 


196  VERY  SICK. 

as  well  as  the  body.  Conscience  had,  during  the  first 
hours  of  Octavia's  consciousness,  dethroned  the  false 
pride  which  had  so  long  reigned  with  an  iron  sceptre 
in  her  soul,  and  had  taken  the  throne  of  judgment.  It 
had  convinced  her  judgment  that  it  had  erred  in  allow 
ing  her  cowardly  pride  to  rob  her  of  some  of  the 
noblest  impulses  of  her  soul. 

Finally  the  physician  said,  "  Odlavia,  you  are  not 
gaining  a  particle  of  strength.  You  are  worrying 
about  something.  Unless  you  dismiss  it,  you  will  die. 
Where  is  the  iron  will  you  used  to  have  when  you 
were  a  student  ?"  Odlavia  realized  that  the  dodlor 
was  right  and  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind  that  it 
might  be  too  late  to  send  for  her  brother;  she  would 
send  for  the  Dives,  who  she  felt  were  next  to  her 
mother,  the,  best  friends  she  had. 

The  day  after  the  girls  received  the  telegram  they 
left  their  home  soon  after  breakfast,  and  in  two  hours 
afterwards  they  arrived  on  the  Island.  The  man  in 
the  office  told  them  that  Odlavia  had  had  a  dangerous 
type  of  fever,  and  that  they  usually  forbade  even  the 
friends  of  such  persons  to  enter  the  room  where  the 
sick  were;  but  because  Odlavia  was  well  known,  and 
had  made  a  special  request  through  her  physician  and 
he  had  granted  it,  they  would  be  at  liberty  to  enter. 
The  girls  felt  not  the  slightest  fear,  and  were  soon  at 
the  bedside  of  the  haughty  Odlavia.  They  found  her 
very  much  changed.  Her  hair  had  been  shaven  and 
her  features  were  weazened  and  pinched.  The  girls 


VERY  SICK.  197 

would  not  have  known  her,  had  they  not  been  directed 
to  her  bedside. 

She  smiled  a  faint  smile  as  the  sisters  approached, 
and  extended  her  thin,  pale  hand  in  friendly  greeting. 
The  girls  had  taken  it  in  turn,  and  warmly  pressed  it. 
When  at  last  they  did  try  to  speak,  their  voices  be 
trayed  the  pity  they  felt.  Tears  came  to  their  eyes; 
for  when  those  who  have  helped  us,  whether  prompted 
by  the  kindness  of  their  hearts  or  because  it  was  in 
the  line  of  duty,  are  themselves  in  distress,  their  for 
mer  deeds  will  come  vividly  before  us. 

The  nurse  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  said:  ' '  Girls, 
I  have  been  very  sick.  I  am  still  very  weak.  There 
is  a  possibility  of  my  never  becoming  strong  again.  I 
have  a  few  things  to  say  to  you,  if  my  strength  will 
allow.  Write  to  my  brother  and  mother,  telling  them 
that  I  realize  now  that  I  did  not  treat  them  right.  I 
thought  myself  better  than  they,  which  I  now  see  was 
Oh,  so  wrong.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  feel  the 
sin  I  did.  And  Oh,  girls,  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that  your  coachman  is  none  other 
than  my  brother,  whom  my  mother  mourns  as  dead. 
There  is  a  possibility  that  I  am  mistaken;  but  he  re 
sembles  my  brother,  and  when  we  were  on  the  moun 
tain  I  saw  a  knife  in  his  possession,  which  I  am  almost 
certain  was  once  the  property  of  my  brother.  I  would 
have  told  you  this  before;  but  I  did  not  want  you  to 
think  that  a  coachman  is  my  brother.  Do  not  ask  him 
now,  girls.  If  I  get  well  again  I  will  ask  him,  and  if 
he  is  what  I  suppose,  I  will  prevail  on  him  to  accom- 


190  VERY  SICK. 

pany  me  to  our  old  home  in  Pennsylvania.  I  know 
my  mother,  dear  old  soul,  would  be  so  glad  to  see  us. 
Here  Octavia  herself  wept  like  a  child.  The  Doctor 
coming  through  the  ward  just  then,  kindly  reminded 
her  that  she  was  very  weak  and  that  she  would  better 
have  her  friends  call  upon  her  in  a  day  or  so,  when  he 
had  no  doubt  she  would  be  stronger. 

If  anybody  particularly  noticed  the  Dives  girls  as 
they  sat  in  the  cars  on  the  elevated  road  that  noon,  as 
they  were  on  their  way  home,  they  would  have  recog 
nized  that  they  were  anxious.  They  spoke  in  low  but 
earnest  tones.  They  were  asking  themselves  whether 
it  would  not  be  best  for  them  to  summon  the  brother 
and  mother  to  the  bedside  of  the  girl  they  feared 
would  never  rise  from  her  couch  again.  Had  they 
known  the  real  truth  of  the  matter,  they  would  have 
known  that  a  dispatch  sent  just  then  to  the  Niemans, 

at  ,  would  have  added  an  additional  pang  to 

those  which  they  were  even  then  enduring.  Affliction 
had  already  laid  his  horny  hand  upon  the  very  heart 
strings  of  I^ee  and  his  mother,  and  as  we  shall  subse 
quently  see,  was  threatening  to  tear  them,  at  the  very 
time  that  Odlavia  was  wishing  that  she  might  confess 
her  folly  to  them. 

But  how  about  Felix  ?  If  he  were  really  Octavia's 
brother,  why  not  let  him  know  the  dangerous  condi 
tion  in  which  they  had  found  his  sister  at  the  hospi 
tal  ? 

That  day  when  they  arrived  at  home  the  first 
question  Felix  asked,  when  he  and  they  met,  was 


VERY  SICK.  199 

concerning  Miss  Newman.  The  girls  cast  a  sharp 
glance,  first  at  each  other,  then  at  him  ;  but  his 
face  showed  nothing  beyond  a  kindly  curiosity  to 
know  how  the  sick  woman  was  doing.  He 
had  learned  to  realize  that  she  felt  that  they  two 
were  not  made  of  kindred  clay.  She  had  always 
treated  him  with  such  dignity  and  reserve.  When  she 
did  condescend  to  notice  him  at  all,  she  did  so  with 
the  utmost  show  of  her  conscious  superiority. 

It  occurred  to  them  that  evening,  when  Felix 
had  gone  to  his  room,  that  they  had  never 
asked  Sharp  what  their  coachman's  name  really 
was.  He  had  been  introduced  to  them  by  the  name  of 
Felix,  and  Felix  they  had  called  him  ever  since. 
They  thought  that  they  would  ask  him  the  very  next 
morning  what  his  full  name  was.  They  asked  the 
cook  that  evening  whether  he  could  tell  them  where 
Mr.  Sharp  was.  That  worthy  told  them  that  he  did 
not  know.  He  might  have  gone  west  again.  The 
last  time  he  had  seen  him  he  had  told  the  cook  that  it 
was  likely  that  he  would  go  west  as  far  as  Omaha  ere 
long,  as  he  had  some  business  to  attend  to  which  con 
cerned  the  folks  in  the  house.  He  did  not  ask  him 
the  particulars.  This  remark  seemed  very  strange  to 
the  girls;  but  inasmuch  as  the  cook  said  he  did  not  ask 
Sharp  the  particulars,  they  did  not  say  anything  fur 
ther  just  then. 

To  the  surprise  of  everybody,  Sharp  came  that  very 
evening.  He  did  not  ring  the  bell  as  he  had  done 
the  last  time  he  had  called,  but  walked  along  the  side 


2OO  VERY  SICK. 

of  the  house  until  he  arrived  at  the  door  leading  to 
the  cook's  room.  When  the  girls  knew  that  he  was 
with  the  cook,  they  summoned  him  to  the  dining 
room.  They  told  him  of  Odlavia's  condition,  which 
information  surprised  him  very  much.  He  said  that 
the  young  lady  had  made  a  favorable  impression  on 
him,  and  that  he  would  cheerfully  serve  her  if  he  knew 
of  anything  that  he  could  do.  He  said,  that  he  felt 
sure  that  the  people  at  the  hospital  would  not  allow 
anyone  to  see  her,  if  she  had  scarlet  fever.  Susan 
Dives  told  him  that  they  had  been  to  see  her  that  very 
day.  Then  Sharp  said,  he  supposed  Octavia  would 
not  like  if  any  of  her  gentlemen  friends  would  call  on 
her.  The  girls,  who  had  purposely  withheld  Octavia's 
request  in  order  that  they  might  draw  him  out,  now 
told  him  that  quite  the  contrary  was  the  truth.  She 
had  sent  a  special  request  to  see  him  next  day.  Sharp 
scarcely  knew  what  to  say  in  reply  to  this  information. 
He  left  the  girls  under  the  impression  that  he  would 
go  the  very  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AFFLICTIONS. 

"  Men  die,  but  sorrow  never  dies; 
The  crowding  years  divide  in  vain, 
And  the  wide  world  is  knit  with  ties 
Of  common  brotherhood  in  pain." — Susan  Coolige. 

One  evening  Dr.  Nieman  was  called  to  see  a  child 
near  his  home,  supposed  to  be  suffering  with  a  severe 
cold,  but  he  found  symptoms  of  scarlet  fever.  The 
doctor  made  his  first  call  of  the  morning  the  next  day 
on  the  little  fellow,  and  found  that  what  he  supposed 
was  the  matter  with  him  had  now  actually  shown 
itself,  so  that  even  his  mother  was  right  when  she 
said,  "  Doctor,  the  boy  has  scarlet  fever." 

For  nine  long  days  the  doctor  was  a  frequent  visitor 
at  the  home  of  his  little  charge,  only  to  see  that  his 
skill  was  unavailing.  The  tenth  day  he  saw  the  ' '  brief 
candle  "  extinguished,  whose  flame  he  had  so  carefully 
nursed  for  so  many  days.  The  doctor  mourned  with 
the  bereaved  parents  as  the  little  form  was  carried  out 
into  the  cemetery,  to  which  we  have  so  often  referred 
in  several  chapters  of  this  story. 

But  L^ee's  greatest  sorrow  was  yet  to  come.  The 
same  fell  destroyer,  who  had  so  ruthlessly  defied  the 
doctor's  skill  in  the  case  of  his  neighbor,  stealthily 
crept  into  his  own  home  and  made  it  desolate.  Per- 


202  AFFLICTIONS. 

haps  if  he  had  not  been  so  deeply  interested  in  the  life 
of  others,  he  would  have  earlier  noticed  the  symptoms 
of  disease  in  his  own  child.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nieman 
had  two  children.  One  of  them  was  a  girl,  six  years 
of  age,  the  other  was  a  boy  just  half  as  old  to  the  very 
day,  as  his  sister.  What  was  queerer  still,  the  birth 
day  of  the  two  children  occurred  on  the  same  day  that 
their  mother's  birthday  came.  Dodler  Nieman  used 
to  say,  that  whilst  there  were  five  in  his  family, 
including  grand-mother,  there  were  only  three  birth 
days  for  them  all. 

The  younger  Mrs.  Nieman  first  noticed  the  symp 
toms  of  disease  in  their  little  girl.  She  called  the  doc 
tor's  attention  to  the  child.  He  promptly  took  the 
most  diligent  care  to  thwart  the  disease;  but  the  child 
became  steadily  worse.  Then  a  physician  from  the 
city  was  summoned,  but  he  said  he  could  not  recom 
mend  one  thing  to  be  done  that  had  not  already  been 
done;  perhaps  the  child's  good  constitution  would  save 
it.  The  very  next  day  after  his  visit  the  little  sufferer 
was  released.  The  ' '  sweet  new  blossom  of  human 
ity,"  which  had  so  recently  fallen  from  "  God's  own 
home  to  flower  on  the  earth,"  was  early  nipped  by  the 
cruel  frost,  and  now  lay  cold  and  stiff  amidst  the  white 
autumn  flowers,  which  had  been  gathered  by  loving 
hands  to  adorn  the  little  bier  of  the  dead  child.  As 
she  lay  there  amid  the  white  flowers,  she  looked  like 
a  fresh  handiwork  of  her  Creator,  and  not  as  having 
already  known  human  suffering.  All  of  the  hearts  in 
that  family  circle  were  deeply  stricken.  The  blow 


AFFLICTIONS.  203 

had  fallen  on  all  alike.  It  is  true  that  no  heart  loves 
as  a  mother's  heart;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  Mrs. 
Nieman's  heart  bled  more  freely  than  her  husband's. 
When  the  child  was  dead,  the  doctor  at  once  sent  a 
dispatch  to  Odlavia,  in  care  of  the  hospital,  informing 
her  of  the  sad  fa<5l,  and  when  the  funeral  would  take 
place.  Much  to  the  sorrow  of  the  three  who  com 
posed  the  little  family  circle  -at ,  they  received  a 

reply  the  same  day,  that  Octavia  was  herself  indis 
posed,  and  would  in  consequence  not  be  at  the  funeral 
of  her  niece.  The  physician  had  received  the  dis 
patch,  and  because  Octavia  was  just  then  hovering  be 
tween  life  and  death,  he  did  not  let  the  news  of  her 
niece's  death  go  into  her  hands  at  all.  He  answered 
the  dispatch,  and  did  not  tell  Octavia  anything  about 

it  for  several  months.  Had  the  Niemans  at  

known  this  fact  they  would  have  borne  their  sorrow 
with  greater  ease.  There  is  nothing  which  brings 
more  bitterness  in  the  hour  of  affliction  than  the 
thought  that  those  from  whom  we  ought  to  receive 
sympathy  have  sealed  their  hearts  against  us. 

The  body  of  the  little  girl  was  laid  where,  in  the 
spring  time,  the  violets  bloomed  in  their  richest  pro 
fusion,  and  where  the  birds  sang  their  sweetest  the 
live-long  day.  They  laid  her  where  she  so  often,  in 
company  with  the  little  boy  who  had  preceded  her 
by  only  a  few  days,  had  gathered  the  wild  strawberry 
from  among  the  graves  in  the  early  spring. 

After  the  funeral  I^ee  took  up  the  old  burden  of 
other  people's  suffering.  He  could  now  enter  into  the 


204  AFFLICTIONS. 

trials  of  others  more  fully,  since  death  had  come  to  his 
home  and  defied  his  skill  in  the  very  midst  of  his  own 
family  circle.  We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  fact  that 
everybody  in  that  home  from  which  the  little  girl  had 
gone  felt  that  death  had  made  ' '  his  darkness  beauti 
ful,"  because  he  had  simply  plucked  a  flower  from 
the  shores  of  time  and  set  it  to  bloom  forever  in  a 
fairer  clime. 

•  We  must  not  for  a  moment  think  that  this  great 
scourge  of  childhood,  scarlet  fever,  was  satisfied  with 
the  victims  he  selected  that  winter  from  among  the 
young.  Not  only  did  he  take  the  child  from  the 
mother's  arms,  but  he  in  more  than  one  instance  took 
the  mother  also,  as  if  he  thought  that  the  guardian 
angels  of  the  little  ones  needed  the  help  of  those 
mothers  in  that  better  world.  Mrs.  Nieman  was  one 
of  the  first  in  the  neighborhood  upon  whose  vitals  the 
same  disease  which  took  her  little  one  fastened  his 
fangs.  Perhaps  it  was  because  the  mother  wished  to 
follow  her  little  girl  rather  than  stay  with  her  husband 
and  little  son,  that  the  disease  held  out  against  the 
combined  medical  skill  of  her  husband  and  his  friends 
whom  he  called  to  his  aid.  Whatever  they  might  do, 
it  seemed  to  the  doctor  from  the  beginning  that  his 
wife  was  doomed.  She  had  fought  the  symptoms  of 
the  disease  for  more  than  a  month  after  her  little 
daughter  had  left  them,  more  because  the  doctor 
insisted  that  she  should,  than  because  she  dreaded  the 
result.  When  finally  the  doctor  realized  that  she 
could  withstand  the  unequal  contest  no  longer,  the 


AFFLICTIONS.  205 

battle  was  soon  over.  Mrs.  Nieman  died  as  quietly  as 
her  daughter  had  died  before  her.  The  last  words  she 
spoke  were  those  concerning  the  future  of  her  little 
son.  "  If  God  leaves  him  with  you,  Lee,  bring  him 
up  as  your  mother  brought  you  up.  So  long  as  your 
mother  remains  with  you,  our  little  Frank  will  have  a 
mother.  When  she  comes  to  me  and  our  Lizzie,  you 
must  be  a  mother  and  a  father  both." 

Death  is  always  cruel  when  he  enters  a  family  circle. 
He  is  scarcely  ever  satisfied  with  one  victim;  but  like 
the  tiger  of  the  jungle  which,  when  it  has  taken  one 
kid  from  the  fold,  comes  again  and  again  in  quick 
succession,  so  death  will  come  twice,  perhaps  thrice, 
or  until  but  one  or  two  of  the  family  are  left. 

There  are  two  graves  in  the  little  cemetery  back  of 
the  Nieman  home  that  are  visited  more  frequently 
than  any  others.  The  mother  and  her  daughter  sleep 
side  by  side.  All  the  long  summer  day  the  bees  come 
and  go  among  the  roses  that  grow  above  those  graves. 
Fit  emblems  are  those  roses  on  the  graves  there,  of  the 
sweetness  of  the  life  that  still  lingers  in  the  hearts  and 
minds  of  the  dear  ones  that  Mrs.  Nieman  left.  Hers 
was  one  of  those  quiet  lives  which,  though  little 
known  outside  of  a  narrow  circle,  fills  all  that  circle 
with  its  blessed  influences.  Though  least  has  been 
said  of  it  in  this  account,  it  is  by  no  means  the  least  of 
those  lives  here  portrayed. 

When  Lee's  wife  died  he  sent  no  dispatch  convey 
ing  the  sad  news  to  Odlavia.  He  said  to  his  mother: 
"  She  will  not  think  of  us.  When  we  lived  in  peace, 


206  AFFLICTIONS. 

and  the  cup  of  our  joy  was  full,  we  tried  to  have  her 
share  that  joy.  Now  that  deep  and  heavy  floods  of 
sorrow  have  swallowed  us  up,  we  will  not  stretch 
appealing  hands  to  her.  God  means  that  it  should  be 
so." 

All  this  time  Odtavia  was  still  confined  to  the  hos 
pital.  She  had  begun  to  grow  stronger;  but  the  way 
between  her  and  perfect  health  was  long  and  full  of 
hard  climbs  for  one  so  weak  as  she  to  make.  The 
Dives  girls  visited  her  frequently,  and  brought  with 
them  many  little  tokens  of  their  regard  for  her.  They 
assured  her  again  and  again  that  they  had  written  to 
her  friends.  They  could  not  understand  why  they 
did  not  hear.  Octavia  said,  "  I  have  been  so  forgetful 
of  them.  They  have  made  so  many  advances  toward 
me,  and  have  tried  so  long  to  have  our  interests  one 
and  our  hearts  knit  together,  that  they  have  concluded 
that  this  mellowness  in  my  cold  nature  is  owing  to  my 
illness.  They  think  it  will  pass  away  with  coming 
vigor.  It  may  be  so.  I  hope  it  will  not." 

The  hair  began  to  grow  on  Octavia's  head;  but  it 
was  no  longer  the  shower  of  gold  which  in  her  earlier 
years  had  hovered  around  her  otherwise  plain  face. 
It  curled  as  it  came  out  of  her  shaven  skull,  as  if  in 
bitter  mockery  of  the  custom  she  had  had  of  taking  a 
hot  iron  and  twisting  it  out  of  its  natural  shape  into 
writhing  little  ringlets  on  her  head.  These  little 
curls,  as  they  came  hugging  tight  her  scalp,  were  soft 
as  down  and  white  as  snow.  They  were  the  first  her 
alds  of  the  burden  of  the  years  that  Odlavia  now  began 


AFFLICTIONS.  207 

to  feel  were,  slowly  but  surely,  rolling  upon  her. 
Odlavia  was  one  of  those  girls  who  have  no  birthdays 
after  their  twentieth  year  is  passed.  She  had  always 
been  a  "little  past  twenty  "  to  her  friends  who  did 
not  know  her  as  well  as  her  mother;  but  now,  since 
her  sickness,  it  seemed  that  all  her  accumulated  birth 
days  had  rolled  away  at  one  and  the  same  time  and 
had  left  her  weary  and  old  all  at  once.  There  was  but 
one  comfort  that  sustained  her  soul.  It  was  that  she 
was  no  longer  poor.  What  if  she  would  not  be  able 
to  minister  to  others,  one  had  ministered  to  her.  She 
then  felt  that  she  had  not  treated  Peter  True  as  he 
had  deserved.  The  man  into  whose  care  she  had 
given  the  collecting  or  rather  transferring  of  her 
estate,  had  written  her  but  once  whilst  she  was  in  the 
hospital.  It  was  when  the  Dives  had  told  him  that 
O<5lavia  wished  to  see  him.  He  had  told  her  that  be 
cause  of  her  situation  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  gain 
access  to  her  ward;  and  that  he  was  very  busy  just 
then.  He  would  by  the  time  she  became  convalescent 
be  ready  to  hand  her  the  deeds  to  her  property.  Hop 
ing  to  hear  favorably  and  frequently  through  her 
friends,  he  remained  her  servant.  It  did  seem  to  her 
that  he  was  not  a  very  faithful  servant,  and  she  re 
solved  that  she  would  live  without  him,  if  she  lived  at 
all. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"THE  BUSINESS." 

"  You  do  the  deeds." — Shakespeare. 

One  evening  about  four  weeks  after  our  stranger, 
Mr.  Gray,  had  registered  at  the  —  hotel  in  the  town  of 
iron  vigor,  a  man  and  woman  and  boy  about  fifteen 
years  of  age  stepped  off  the  evening  train  from  the 
city  of  Philadelphia,  at  the  station  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  city  already  referred  to.  From  this  station  to  the 
centre  of  the  town  it  is  said  to  be  one  mile  and  a  half. 
There  is  a  street-railway  to  the  station  and  beyond  it, 
to  the  next  town  six  miles  distant.  The  people  to 
whom  we  refer  took  the  street-railway  from  this  sta 
tion  in  the  suburbs,  where  they  left  the  cars  which  had 
brought  them  from  the  Quaker  City.  On  the  corner 

of  Sixth  and Streets  they  left  the  car  and  walked 

north  two  blocks.  Then  the  woman  cautiously  took  a 
picture  from  beneath  the  folds  of  her  shawl,  and  stole 
a  hasty  glance  at  it.  She  said  in  a  low  tone  to  the 
man  who  accompanied  her:  "  Yes,  this  is  the  place." 
The  two  gave  several  scrutinizing  looks  at  the  prem 
ises  as  they  walked  by.  None  of  them  made  any 
remarks.  The  boy  as  well  as  the  rest  seemed  to  know 
all  about  the  reasons  that  led  them  to  this  particular 
street  and  house.  The  party  walked  up  to  the  next 
corner,  then  turned  south  and  sauntered  leisurely  four 
208 


' '  THE  BUSINESS. ' '  209 

blocks  in  that  direction;  then  they  turned  eastward 
and  walked  three  blocks.  The  woman  again  reached 
beneath  the  folds  of  her  shawl  and  drew  forth  a  pic 
ture.  She  looked  at  it,  then  handed  it  to  her  husband; 
because  there  was  no  one  near  them  and  there  was  no 
occasion  for  caution.  They  agreed  that  both  of  the 
pictures  were  true  to  their  originals. 

When  they  had  satisfied  themselves  that  they  knew 
their  bearings,  they  again  sauntered  toward  the  centre 
of  the  city.  They  were  soon  in  a  restaurant  and  had 
ordered  ham  and  eggs  for  three.  After  they  had 
eaten  their  supper,  it  was  after  nine  o'clock.  It  was 
too  late  to  go  to  any  place  of  amusement.  The 
evening  was  cold,  for  it  was  the  beginning  of  January. 
A  gutter  merchant  was  selling  soaps  for  the  removal 
of  grease  from  all  kinds  of  woolen,  cotton  or  silk  goods, 
and  lotions  for  burns,  chilblains  and  all  other  sores. 
He  had  with  him  an  accordion,  and  when  interest 
lagged,  he  played  and  sang.  This  he  kept  up  until 
ten  o'clock.  When  he  ceased,  our  visitors  walked  on. 
The  man  said  to  the  woman:  "  I  do  not  see  why  he 
gave  us  special  instructions  to  visit  the  smaller  house 
first.  I  would  prefer  the  other." 

The  woman  replied:  "  You  know  Sharp  has  visited 
the  places  in  day-time.  He  has  been  in  both  houses 
and  knows  what  he  is  talking  about.  Do  as  he  has 
directed,  then  in  case  of  failure  he  cannot  blame  you." 

Our  readers  are  convinced  by  this  time  that  the 
mysterious  strangers,  who  had  gotten  off  the  cars  in 
the  suburbs  of  the  little  city,  were  sent  to  finish  the 


2io  "THE  BUSINESS." 

business  which  ' '  Peter  Gray ' '  had  so  auspiciously 
begun  several  weeks  before.  He  had  gone  to 
his  lodging  the  night  he  had  been  to  see  the 
cook,  and  had  succeeded  in  quieting  his  con 
science  without  much  more  ado.  In  fact  of  late 
his  conscience  did  not  speak  to  him  as  loudly  nor  as 
often  as  it  did  when  he  first  entered  upon  a  course  of 
wrong-doing.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  he  had 
killed  his  conscience,  or  if  he  had  not  put  it  to  death, 
it  had  become  so  weak  and  cowardly  that  the  faults  it 
could  no  longer  prevent  in  the  man's  life,  it  seldom 
had  sense  of  justice  enough  to  accuse. 

The  very  next  day  he  went  to  see  the  friends  who 
had  come  to  the  city  and  to  whom  he  referred 
when  he  was  speaking  to  the  cook.  They  were 
keeing  a  second-hand  clothing  store.  He  had  suc 
ceeded  in  persuading  these  people  that  the  business 
he  outlined  would  pay,  and  in  order  to  convince  them 
that  he  felt  confident,  he  paid  for  the  tickets  to  Phila 
delphia  and  return,  and  told  them  that  if  after  an 
"  honest  effort  "  they  did  not  succeed,  he  would  reim 
burse  them.  If  they  succeeded  they  were  to  give  him 
the  one-half  of  the  net  proceeds.  His  bargain  with 
them  and  his  sending  them  alone  was  not  so  much  a 
proof  of  the  old  saying  that  there  is  honor  among 
thieves,  as  it  was  that  Sharp  was  a  coward  in  every 
sense  of  the  word.  So  long  as  a  mean  trick  did  not 
involve  his  personal  .safety  he  was  in  the  lead,  a  veri 
table  peer  among  those  of  his  kind. 

The  people  who  were  in  his  employ  on  this  particu- 


"  THE  BUSINESS. "  211 

lar  evening  had  once  lived  an  honest  life.  The  woman 
had  kept  a  lodging  house  in  her  better  days;  but  she 
had  fallen  into  such  bad  company  and  gone  so  low  in 
the  scale  of  morality,  that  she  had  come  to  New  York 
with  her  only  boy  to  escape  all  surveillance  of  her 
friends.  The  man  who  accompanied  her  had  known 
her  in  the  west  and  had  followed  her  to  the  Metropolis. 
There  they  were  married,  and  were  now  "doing  busi 
ness  "  as  one  firm.  They  kept  a  small  second-hand 
clothing  store  to  disarm  suspicion.  Their  real  inten 
tion  was  to  steal  in  whatever  way  they  could.  It  had 
become  a  pleasure  to  them  to  be  dishonest.  It  was 
easier  now  to  be  dishonest  than  to  be  honest.  They 
blamed  their  "  hard  luck,"  as  they  called  their  im 
providence,  their  shiftlessness  and  their  unwillingness 
to  work.  All  of  the  wrong-doers  in  these  chapters 
were  once  respectable.  All  of  them  had  a  compara 
tively  good  education.  They  are  a  proof  that  educa 
tion  alone  will  not  solve  the  moral  question  of  a 
people.  Their  wrong-doing  is  just  as  odious  as  that 
of  the  more  ignorant,  and  is  even  more  culpable. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  the  trio  again  walked  by 
the  house  they  had  first  visited.  The  street  was 
quiet  save  here  and  there  was  heard  the  footfall  of 
some  belated  man  or  youth  hurrying  to  his  home. 
They  themselves  felt  like  breaking  the  monotony  of 
the  silence  by  giving  a  little  scream  or  singing  at  the 
top  of  their  voices.  If  they  could  have  acted  it  would 
have  been  different;  but  all  they  could  do  was  to  stand 
in  the  shadow  of  the  stable  and  watch  the  house,  so  as 


212  "  THE  BUSINESS. ' ' 

to  be  sure  that  there  were  none  of  the  inmates  astir,  or 
any  late  comers  who  might  be  still  awake,  when  they 
"  began  their  work."  At  last  all  they  could  think  of 
was  arranged.  The  town-clock  slowly  and  solemnly 
struck  twelve.  It  seemed  to  them  that  the  clock  had 
consumed  a  whole  half  hour  in  tolling  the  twelve 
strokes.  At  last  it  was  done,  and  they  thought  it 
time  to  begin.  They  approached  the  house.  There 
was  no  moon.  There  were  a  few  stars;  but  the  heavy 
January  sky  shrouded  the  greater  part  of  the  heavens. 
The  night  was  admirably  adapted  "  for  their  work." 
They  did  not  try  to  unlock  any  of  the  doors;  for  Sharp 
had  distinctly  told  them  that  every  one  of  the  outside 
doors  had  a  bar.  To  unlock  them  therefore  was  use 
less,  or  to  open  them  in  any  way  without  making  a 
great  deal  of  noise,  from  the  outside,  was  a  fruitless 
attempt.  Each  of  the  trio  had  felt  shoes  on.  When 
they  arrived  with  noiseless  tread  at  the  foot  of  the 
porch,  the  boy  was  helped  to  his  father's  shoulder. 
From  thence  he  could  just  reach  the  hole  in  the  orna 
ment  at  the  top  of  the  post  which  supported  the  porch 
roof.  Then,  having  grasped  this  ornamentation,  he 
threw  his  limbs  around  the  post,  and  in  a  trice  he 
had  reached  the  top  of  the  roof  and  was  walking  noise-1 
lessly  toward  the  window.  It  was  down  from  the  top 
three  or  four  inches.  He  pulled  it  down  until  the  top 
of  the  upper  sash  was  even  with  the  top  of  the  lower . 
He  knew  that  the  young  lady  of  the  house  slept  in 
that  room,  if  matters  still  existed  as  they  did  when 
Sharp  had  taken  the  picture.  He  saw  by  the  gas, 


"THE  BUSINESS."  213 

which  was  burning  so  low  that  it  made  semi-darkness 
in  the  room,  that  she  was  in  bed,  and  asleep.  One 
white  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  lay  on  top  of  the 
cover.  He  saw  that  there  were  no  rings  on  the  hand. 
He  noticed  that  the  cover  over  her  bosom  heaved 
and  fell  regularly  and  gently.  She  was  in  a  deep, 
quiet  sleep.  But  the  rings,  where  were  they?  He 
looked  about  and  saw  a  jewel  case  on  the  dressing- 
bureau.  He  picked  it  up.  It  was  locked.  He  put  it 
under  his  arm.  Just  then  the  girl  sighed  deeply,  and 
turned  in  her  sleep.  That  moment  the  young  thief 
had  extinguished  the  gas  and  all  was  quiet.  As  he 
stood  in  the  darkness  a  nameless  terror  stole  over  him, 
that  caused  his  knees  to  smite  together;  but  in  a  mo 
ment  he  was  himself  again,  and  on  his  way  to  the 
stairs,  which  he  knew  were  located  right  outside  of 
the  closed  door  before  which  he  had  stood  looking  at 
the  sleeping  form  of  the  young  woman.  He  opened 
the  door.  It  creaked  slightly.  He  swore  an  oath 
which  no  one  heard  save  He  who  said:  "Thou  shalt 
not  take  the  name  of  the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain."  In 
another  moment  he  was  at  the  front  door.  He  un 
barred  it  noiselessly,  and  turned  the  key.  The  door 
opened.  He  handed  his  mother  the  jewel  case.  No 
one  spoke  a  word.  In  a  moment  the  boy  and  the  man 
disappeared.  The  woman  for  a  moment  staid  outside. 
The  two  went  directly  to  the  bed-chamber  of  the 
owner  of  the  house.  It  was  as  dark  as  night  could 
make  it.  Then  the  man  opened  his  coat  and  it  was 
light  in  the  room.  They  saw  the  husband-and  wife  in 


214  "THE  BUSINESS. ' ' 

bed,  and  asleep.  The  man  buttoned  his  coat,  and  it 
was  dark  as  before.  Then  the  elder  robber  stepped  up 
to  the  bed,  reached  under  the  man's  pillow  and  drew 
gently  from  beneath  it  a  revolver  and  a  pocket-book. 
The  man's  watch  had  meanwhile  been  taken  out  of  a 
little  case  on  the  wall,  upon  the  outside  of  which  was 
printed  an  owl  and  beneath  it  the  words:  "  You  sleep, 
I'll  watch."  After  the  room  had  been  cleared  of  all 
the  valuables  they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  they  went 
into  another  room  in  which  they  heard  some  one  snor 
ing.  When  they  were  inside  the  man  opened  his  coat 
once  more,  and  they  saw  two  young  ladies  in  bed. 
One  was  wide  awake,  though  she  pretended  to  be 
asleep.  She  had  taken  her  diamond  ring  off  her  finger 
and  had  slipped  it  into  her  mouth  just  as  the  two  wor 
thies  entered.  They  did  not  know  this.  She  shut 
her  eyes  when  the  light  fell  upon  her  face,  and  stopped 
breathing.  The  boy  looked  at  the  man.  The  man 
nodded,  and  the  boy  moved  beside  her  with  his  pistol 
close  to  her  face.  He  whispered,  "  Not  a  word  from 
you."  By  that  time  they  were  ready  to  go  down 
stairs.  The  girl  had  not  moved.  Great  beads  of  per 
spiration  rolled  down  her  cheeks;  but  her  eyes  were 
closed. 

The  woman  had  stayed  outside  the  door  only  until 
she  was  sure  the  two  were  upstairs,  then  she  went  to 
the  dining  room.  She  opened  the  folds  ot  her  shawl, 
and  the  room  was  light  about  her.  She  saw  the  silver 
arranged  on  the  chiffonier.  She  gathered  what  she 
supposed  was  solid  and  was  at  the  front  door  just  in 


"  THE  BUSINESS. "  215 

time  to  meet  her  worthy  husband  and  son  as  they 
came  hurriedly  from  up-stairs.  They  went  out  without 
a  word  and  closed  the  door  noiselessly.  Then  the  boy 
said:  "  The  one  girl  is  awake." 

They  went  to  the  barn  where  they  had  left  a 
satchel,  and  where  they  agreed  to  meet  some  time  be 
fore  morning,  no  matter  what  might  happen.  In  a 
moment  the  silver  which  the  woman  had  stolen  was 
put  into  the  satchel.  It  consisted  of  spoons,  forks, 
a  butter-dish,  a  nut-dish,  a  handsome  cake-dish,  and 
a  gravy  bowl.  The  watches,  of  which  there  were 
three, — two  pretty  gold  hunting  cases  which  had  be 
longed  to  the  young  ladies,  a  heavy  gold  hunting  case 
set  in  diamonds, — some  rings  and  the  jewel  case 
which  was  still  locked,  together  with  a  purse,  the 
woman  took  and  adjusted  about  her  loins  beneath  her 
dress  on  little  hooks,  which  hung  there  ready  to  fasten 
plunder.  Next  the  little  dark-lanterns  which  the 
mother  and  her  husband  carried  beneath  their  outer 
garments,  and  to  which  we  have  already  referred, 
were  extinguished.  All  of  this  was  done  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  talk  about  it.  The  party  were  ready 
to  start.  The  felt  shoes  they  still  kept  on  their  feet. 
They  took  a  glance  at  the  house.  In  the  man's  bed 
chamber  just  then  a  bright  light  appeared.  The  house 
was  aroused!  As  the  three  worthies  hurried  away 
they  heard  a  voice  call  loudly,  "Major!  Major!  Sick 
'em  Major!  "  The  three  knew  that  "  Major  "  would 
not  sick  them.  They  had  given  Major,  in  a  quiet, 
unostentatious  manner,  a  piece  of  meat  which  they 


2l6  "  THE  BUSINESS. " 

had  prepared  before  they  left  the  city  of  New  York 
as  a  special  gift  for  any  and  all  faithful  watch-dogs 
which  might  chance  to  interfere  in  "  their  business." 
When  they  had  first  walked  by  the  house  the  mastiff 
of  the  place  had  given  them  a  savage  greeting.  When 
they  were  sure  that  no  one  saw  them  the  woman  had 
fearlessly  approached  him,  and  in  a  coaxing  way  held 
out  the  meat,  which  he  refused  to  take  from  her  hand; 
when  she  finally  dropped  it  on  the  cement  pavement, 
the  temptation  was  too  much.  He  swallowed  it,  and 
in  ten  minutes  he  was  a  dead  dog.  He  slept  in  the 
stable.  The  horse  had  already  been  attended  to  by 
the  same  man  who  was  now  calling,  "  Major!  Major!" 
therefore  the  dog  was  not  missed.  The  three  had 
seen  the  dog  eat  the  meat,  and  they  now  laughed  a 
quiet,  fiendish  laugh,  the  first  audible  sound  they  had 
made  since  they  had  come  to  the  porch  just  fifteen 
minutes  before. 

"We  will  now  go  to  the  other  house,"  said  the 
man,  whom  the  success  which  had  attended  them  in 
their  first  effort  had  made  bold  and  eager.  "  It  is  not 
yet  one  o'clock,  and  all  the  noise  they  will  make" 
(nodding  to  the  house  from  which  they  had  come,) 
"  will  not  interfere  with  the  next  job.  What  we  now 
have  is  not  worth  the  trouble.  Two  hundred  dollars 
will  buy  the  whole  outfit.  Make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines,  or  rather  before  it  begins  to  shine." 

"  Ought  we  not  to  be  satisfied?  "  asked  the  woman. 

The  man  with  an  oath  replied,  that  he  was  incur 
ring  the  risk,  not  she.  He  would  do  just  as  he 


"  THE  BUSINESS.  "  217 

pleased  about  it.  Meanwhile  they,  had  already  gone 
more  than  a  square  from  the  house  which  they  had 
just  robbed.  When  they  arrived  at  the  second  place, 
they  found  all  dark  and  quiet.  They  opened  the  gate. 
Immediately  a  large  dog  sprang  out  from  the  porch 
and  barked  one  or  two  quick,  short  barks,  then 
growled  savagely.  They  had  seen  no  sign  of  this  dog 
early  in  the  evening,  though  they  had  looked  care 
fully.  The  woman  was  ready  for  the  emergency. 
She  again  offered  a  piece  of  meat  as  she  stepped  in 
advance  of  the  other  two.  The  dog  growled  all  the 
more  savagely.  She  could  see  in  the  darkness  that 
his  hair  was  bristling.  She  advanced  a  step,  threw 
down  her  meat,  went  back  a  few  steps,  still  facing  the 
dog  who  she  knew  would  spring  at  her  if  she  would 
turn.  His  eyes  seemed  like  balls  of  fire!  As  she 
retreated,  the  man  advanced  and  thrust  her  back  with 
a  muttered  imprecation.  He  had  not  gone  half  the 
distance  between  him  and  the  dog  before  the  latter 
sprang — sprang  straight  for  his  neck.  The  robber 
was  ready  for  him.  He  caught  his  great  head  between 
his  powerful  hands,  and  at  the  same  time  that  he 
clutched  the  dog's  head  in  his  vice-like  grip  he  kicked 
him  in  the  abdomen.  The  dog  gave  a  dismal  howl 
and  fell  from  the  grip  of  the  thief.  That  howl 
had  wakened  one  of  the  young  men  in  the  house,  but 
before  he  had  gotten  to  the  window  to  speak  to 
the  dog  the  trio  were  outside  of  the  gate,  and  when 
the  window  opened  they  dropped  as  if  shot,  on  the 
sidewalk.  For  a  moment  they  lay  flat;  then  when 


2 18  "  THE  BUSINESS. ' ' 

the  yotmg  man  at  the  window  ceased  to  speak  to  the 
dog  which  had  answered  with  a  low  whine,  they  heard 
him  address  someone  inside,  and  shut  the  window. 
They  did  not  wait  to  see  whether  his  inspection  had 
satisfied  him  or  not.  They  scrambled  up  from  the 
walk  and  were  gone.  Three  squares  away  from  the 
house  they  paused.  The  man  cursed  his  luck  as  he 
emptied  the  purse  he  had  taken  from  under  the  pillow 
of  the  owner  of  the  house  where  they  had  been  '  'suc 
cessful."  He  handed  some  of  the  notes  to  the  woman 
and  boy — how  much  he  did  not  know — then  put  the 
rest  with  the  pocket-book  into  his  own  pocket.  When 
this  was  done  they  took  their  felt  shoes  from  their 
feet  and  put  them  into  the  satchel.  Then  they  separ 
ated.  The  boy  and  his  mother  went  together;  the 
man  went  alone  and  in  an  opposite  direction.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken.  We  have  had  our  introduction  to 
these  characters  at  their  true  business.  We  must 
leave  them  now.  From  their  actions  we  are  assured 
that  William  Sharp,  Esq. ,  made  no  mistake  when  he 
delivered  ' '  the  business  ' '  into  their  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  PLUNDER  DIVIDED. 

"  Mammon  led  them  on — 

Mammon  the  least  eredl  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven;  for  even  in  heaven  his  looks  and  thoughts 
Were  always  downward  bent,  admiring  more 
The  riches  of  heaven's  pavement,  trodden  gold, 
Then  aught  divine  or  holy  else  enjoyed 
In  vision  beatific." — Milton. 

On  the   third   morning  after   the  passer-by   might 

first  have  noticed  that  the  little  room  fronting  on 

Street,  New  York  City,  was  closed,  the  door  again 
stood  open,  and  the  woman  who  kept  the  place  was  in 
the  apartment.  She  and  her  son  had  gone  westward, 
after  they  parted  from  the  man  three  squares  away 
from  the  place  where  they  had  thought  of  making  their 
second  attempt  at  robbery,  on  the  night  of  which  we 
have  already  spoken.  They  had  struck  the  railroad 
about  a  mile  west  of  the  little  city,  long  before  any 
body  was  astir  in  the  homes  they  had  passed.  They 
knew  just  what  they  were  doing.  Sharp  had  drawn  a 
map  of  the  street  upon  which  the  second  house  stood 
in  which  he  had  hoped  they  might  operate.  They 
were  to  go  straight  along  this  road  until  they  got  to 
a  railroad.  They  were  then  to  turn  to  the  right  and 
keep  along  this  railroad  until  they  came  to  another 
intersecting  this  one.  Then  they  were  to  pass  along 
this  railroad  until  they  came  to  the  first  station  on  the 

219 


220  THE  PLUNDER  DIVIDED. 

time  table,  a  copy  of  which  he  had  furnished  them  be 
fore  they  left  the  city. 

When  they  came  to  the  station,  a  flag  station  near 
a  ware  house,  they  washed  themselves  from  a  pump 
close  by,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  station.  They 
soon  fell  asleep  and  with  the  satchel  which  contained 
their  booty,  as  a  pillow  and  the  bench  as  a  bed,  the 
woman  slept  soundly.  The  boy  lay  on  another  bench 
with  his  arm  for  a  pillow.  At  six  o'clock  the  first 
train  since  their  arrival  awakened  them,  but  that  went 
eastward  and  they,  according  to  instructions,  were  to 
go  wes~.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  the  boy  had  flagged 
the  westbound  train  and  the  two  worthies  went  on 
board.  In  an  hour  after  this  they  were  in  the  capital 
of  the  Keystone  State.  A  good  breakfast  refreshed 
them.  They  were  decently  dressed  and  attracted  lit 
tle  attention.  By  evening  of  the  same  day,  they  were 
where  they  had  started  from  the  morning  of  the  day 
previous.  The  silver  was  emptied  into  a  box,  and 
ashes  put  on  top.  Then  it  was  carried  into  the  little 
out-house  back  of  the  room  in  which  the  people  had 
their  second-hand  store.  They  had  one  room  besides 
in  the  rear  of  this  one,  but  the  ash-box  was  kept  in 
the  place  mentioned. 

That  same  day  Mr.  Sharp  came  to  see  them.  ' '  How 
is  business?  "  he  asked,  riveting  his  snake-eyes  on  the 
woman  and  smiling  one  of  the  smiles  which  for  all  the 
world  resembled  the  one  the  dog  had  smiled  at  the 
woman  the  night  before,  when  he  refused  her  meat. 
The  woman  replied  that  business  was  fair;  but  that 


THE  PLUNDER  DIVIDED.  221 

her  husband  had  not  yet  returned,  and  she  could  say 
nothing  until  he  canie.  She  knew  he  would  be  dis 
pleased  if  she  did.  Sharp  knew  it  too.  He  did 
not  wish  to  lose  the  man's  "  influence  "  in  the  future 
work  upon  which  he  had  now  entered.  So  he  went 
away,  saying  that  he  would  call  again. 

It  is  now  time  that  we  turn  our  attention  to  the  man 
who  had  left  his  worthy  wife  and  her  son  on  the  street, 
to  look  out  for  themselves.  We  saw  that  they  suc 
ceeded  in  doing  this.  He  was  not  as  expeditious  in 
getting  out  of  the  town  as  they  had  been.  He  walked 
through  the  principal  street  and  looked  for  plunder  in 
the  shop  windows.  He  saw  absolutely  nothing  ' '  that 
made  it  worth  while."  He  had  transferred  all  the 
notes  out  of  the  pocket-book  into  his  little  pocket 
which  he  had  glued  to  his  arm  pit.  There  no  one 
who  did  not  know  of  its  existence  would  suspect  it. 
The  pocket-book  itself  he  had  thrown  into  a  pool  of 
water  which  had  accumulated  in  an  abandoned  cellar. 
He  knew  that  he  was  safe.  No  one  would  suspect 
him.  There  was  no  evidence  of  guilt  about  him. 

When  morning  dawned  he  was  in  the  little  town 
where  he  and  the  rest  had  gotten  on  the  street-car  the 
previous  evening.  When  the  car  came  along  he  step 
ped  on,  determined  to  go  back  and  learn  more  about 
the  town.  He  had  a  good  breakfast  in  a  restaurant; 
not  the  same  in  which  he  had  been  the  evening  before 
in  company  with  his  wife.  He  spent  the  day  about 
town,  saw  the  sights  and  walked  by  the  house  that  he 
had  explored  the  night  before.  Two  policeman  just 


222  THE  PLUNDER  DIVIDED. 

then  cmae  out.  They  passed  out  of  the  gate  and  ap 
proached  him.  A  fear,  groundless  he  felt,  possessed 
him.  For  a  moment  he  could  scarcely  resist  the  im 
pulse  to  turn  and  flee.  He  knew  that  of  all  things, 
that  was  the  most  hazardous  to  do.  They  met,  and 
looked  him  sharply  over  as  they  slowly  passed;  but  he 
paid  no  attention  to  them.  The  police  saw  his  sinister 
expression,  and  knew  that  he  was  a  stranger.  After 
they  were  past  he  heard  them  stop  and  when  he 
turned  they  were  looking  after  him.  He  stopped  like 
wise,  turned  and  walked  toward  them  a  few  steps,  at  the 
same  time  saying:  "  Gentlemen,  do  you  wish  to  speak 
to  me  ?  "  The  officers  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
one  of  them  said,  "  No."  His  coolness  had  saved  him. 
After  he  turned  the  corner  he  resolved  that  it  would 
not  be  safe  for  him  to  risk  another  night  in  town.  A 
square  farther  on  he  met  a  boy  selling  papers.  He 
bought  one  and  read  an  accout  of  the  robbery. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

' '  Towered  cities  please  us  then 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men." — Milton. 

The  day's  life  in  a  great  city  is  divided  in  periods 
which  are  well  defined  and  distindl  from  each  other. 
The  first  period  extends  from  midnight  to  an  hour  or 
two  before  dawn.  It  is  the  period  when  all  decent 
people  in  their  normal  condition,  are  asleep.  During 
this  period  Felix  never  went  out  except  on  extraordi 
nary  occasions.  From  mid-night  to  dawn  the  streets 
are  not  deserted.  Here  and  there  a  policeman  walks 
with  measured  tread.  The  gaudily  attired  who  once 
were  pure  and  had  careful  plans  for  life's  work, 
but  who  long  since  have  fallen  from  their  pure 
estate,  are  now  abroad  to  barter  their  souls  and  their 
bodies  to  whomsoever  they  may  be  able.  Yonder 
comes  the  drunkard  reeling  along  the  street  with  just 
sense  enough  left  to  avoid  the  policeman.  He  has 
come  out  of  the  den  across  the  street  which,  like  the 
mouth  of  hell,  never  closes.  If  you  enter  where  he 
came  out  you  will  find  the  air  thick  with  the  smoke 
from  vilest  of  pipes  and  worst  of  cigars.  You  will 
smell  there  the  odors  so  filthy,  that  they  ought  offer 
an  apology  to  the  nose  before  they  attempt  to  enter. 
Men  and  women  are  there  in  every  state  of  intoxica- 

223  '• 


224  A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

tion.     Faces  are  seen  which  reflect  whole  volumes  of 
brutality. 

An  hour  before  the  dawn,  the  wheels  begin  to  turn 
on  the  streets,  as  the  milk-man,  the  butcher,  and 
the  baker  get  ready  to  supply  the  great  throng  of 
hungry  humanity.  First  comes  the  milk-man  with 
his  mixture  of  milk  and  water.  With  the  butcher 
and  the  baker  comes  the  odor  of  steaming  breakfasts. 
The  day  is  begun.  The  clerk  hastens  to  the  shop  or 
store  to  take  his  place  behind  the  counter  for  another 
day.  The  streets  that  two  hours  ago  were  almost 
deserted,  begin  to  be  filled  with  the  tide  of  life.  Two 
streams  flow  on,  the  live-long  day.  One  close  to  the 
walls  of  houses,  the  other  on  the  side  nearest  the  curb. 
As  the  day  advances  the  complexion  of  the  stream 
materially  changes.  First  it  was  composed  of  pale- 
faced  men  and  women,  the  clerks,  and  then  the 
mechanics.  Now  the  shoppers  and  tradesmen  from 
the  country  and  surrounding  towns  make  up  the  great 
part  of  the  throng.  They  for  the  most  part  press 
eagerly  along  the  street.  Later  in  the  day  come  the 
oglers  and  the  shoppers  who  go  with  little  purpose  and 
often  with  less  money.  When  the  sun  fills  all  the 
streets  that  cross  its  path  with  shadows,  then  the 
stream  of  mechanics  begins  to  surge  homeward. 
After  them  come  the  clerks.  In  the  evening  the 
stream  is  more  distinct,  better  defined,  than  in  the 
morning;  because  the  clerk  and  the  mechanic  seldom 
return  homeward  together. 

When  the  stars  are  out,  though  their  light  is  seldom 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  225 

noticed  in  the  streets  of  our  modern  cities,  upon  which 
the  brilliancy  of  electric  lights  converts  night  into 
day,  then  begins  the  last  period.  With  the  blaze  of  the 
electric  light  comes  the  pleasure  seeker  on  his  way  to 
the  theatre,  the  lodge,  and  what  not  ?  Then  too  is 
heard  the  wierd  music  of  the  gutter  musician,  the  sad 
tones  of  whose  instrument  are  often  in  perfect  accord 
with  the  sadness  of  the  heart.  The  thin  shawl  or  coat 
closely  drawn  about  the  shivering  form  in  winter,  sel 
dom  ever  is  worn  for  any  other  reason  than  for  the  fact 
that  no  warmer  one  can  be  procured.  Men  may  sigh 
to  attract  attention,  and  to  make  an  impression  on  the 
credulous,  but  they  seldom  expose  their  bodies  to  bit 
ing  cold  for  any  other  reason  than  that  they  have  not 
sufficient  covering. 

When  the  brilliancy  of  the  electric  light  begins  to 
take  the  place  of  the  sun,  the  noise  and  the  roar  of 
the  city  has  largely  died  away.  The  lumbering  dray 
that  bore  the  merchandise  from  ship  to  store  and  car, 
is  emptied  of  its  freight,  and  the  weary  horses  quietly 
feed  in  their  stalls.  Their  drivers,  often  less  weary 
than  they,  spend  half  the  night  in  carousing,  and  on 
the  coming  day  beat  their  horses,  instead  of  them 
selves,  for  their  folly. 

It  was  at  this  last  period  of  the  night  that  Felix 
loved  most  to  be  upon  the  street.  This  is  not  the  best 
time  to  study  character;  but  it  is  the  best  time  to  view 
the  giant  buildings  as  they  stand  side  by  side,  the  em 
bodiment  of  enterprise  and  commerce.  The  poet 
Shirley  long  since  has  said,  "All  buildings  are  but 


226  A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

monuments  of  death."  They  are  rather  the  marks 
of  intense  throbbing  life.  There  was  nothing  that  so 
impressed  our  friend  with  the  greatness  of  the  Metrop 
olis  as  the  mighty  buildings,  which  contained  within 
their  walls  more  wealth  than  some  of  the  greatest 
nations  possessed  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago. 

The  cook  had  told  Felix  one  day  when  he  was 
speaking  of  the  great  surging  crowd  of  humanity  on 
Broadway,  that  a  man  could  create,  any  hour  of  the 
day,  a  perfect  jam  by  simply  standing  on  the  corner  of 
the  street,  and  looking  upward  for  a  few  moments. 
Felix  loved  a  little  fun  now  and  then.  The  more  he 
thought  of  the  cook's  remark,  the  queerer  it  seemed. 
Finally  he  resolved  to  try  it.  One  day  when  at  leis 
ure,  he  sauntered  down  Broadway.  The  cook's 
remark  occurred  to  him  when  he  saw  how  people 
elbowed  each  other  in  their  hurry.  Why  not  try  the 
experiment  now  ?  But  would  not  the  people  have 
him  arrested  for  a  lunatic  ?  How  would  he  be  able  to 
rivet  the  attention  of  those  who  would  stop,  on  the 
space  above  him,  or  the  building  opposite  him,  suffi 
ciently  to  escape  their  notice,  or  rather  their  wrath, 
when  once  they  realized  that  they  were  duped? 
Whatever  it  might  cost  him,  he  felt  resolved  to  try. 

He  had  walked  along  meditating  upon  this  scheme 
until  he  arrived  at  the  corner  of  a  street  intersecting 
the  one  already  mentioned.  Suddenly  he  stopped 
and  gazed  intently  at  an  open  window  on  the  fifth 
story  of  the  house  opposite  him.  With  his  eyes 
riveted  on  one  spot  he  was  noticed  in  a  moment.  The 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  227 

persons  in  greatest  haste  looked  sidewise,  and  slack 
ened  their  pace.  Those  not  in  so  big  a  hurry, 
stopped,  and  riveted  their  attention  with  him  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  on  the  open  win 
dow.  Some  said,  "What  is  it?"  Others  in  their 
eagerness  crowded  off  the  side- walk  and  stared.  Per 
sons  at  a  distance  saw  them  and  hurried  up  to  catch  a 
glimpse  at  whatever  it  was  that  attracted  so  much 
attention.  Felix  was  beginning  to  feel  uncomfortable, 
and  wished  he  were  out  of  the  crowd.  What  added  to 
his  unpleasantness  was  the  fact  that  a  policeman  was 
making  his  way  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  to 
have  a  look.  Felix  knew  that  if  the  joke  would  be 
fixed  on  him  he  would  be  arrested  for  creating  a  nui 
sance.  Just  as  the  crowd  was  becoming  impatient, 
Felix,  with  his  eyes  still  riveted  on  the  open  window, 
was  horrified  to  see  a  child  suddenly  rushing  out  of  the 
open  window.  The  crowd  gave  a  great  cry  of  an 
guish.  The  very  intensity  of  Felix's  thought  as  to 
how  he  would  get  out  of  his  unpleasant  position  had 
prepared  him  for  action.  He  sprang  forward  and 
caught  the  little  one  as  it  struck  him.  He  with  the 
child  still  clasped  in  his  arms  was  knocked  on  the 
ground  by  the  force  of  the  concussion.  He  had  saved 
a  life,  when  he  thought  he  was  perpetrating  a  huge 
joke. 

The  policeman  was  soon  at  his  side  and  assisted  him 
in  rising  from  the  dirt,  and  guided  him  from  between 
the  wagons  to  the  opposite  side.  Everybody  was 
eager  to  know  how  it  happened  that  this  man  should 


228  A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE. 

have  known  that  a  child  would  spring  from  a  window 
of  an  eight  story  building,  and  just  when  the  event 
would  occur.  The  policeman,  too,  was  anxious  to 
ascertain  the  particulars,  and  asked  Felix  to  tarry. 
Now  that  the  strain  was  off  his  mind,  and  he  was  de 
livered  from  the  crowd  whose  wrath*  he  feared,  the 
man  was  happy.  He  willingly  entered  the  building 
with  the  policeman  who  now  had  taken  charge  of  the 
child. 

The  crowd  surged  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  big 
house  until  not  only  the  side-walk  was  jammed,  but 
the  streets  as  well.  The  police,  standing  on  the 
window-sill  of  the  first  story,  told  the  crowd  that  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  the  particulars  would  be 
known,  and  ordered  the  people  to  disperse.  The  peo 
ple  readily  saw  the  reasonableness  of  the  request,  and 
followed  his  advice. 

Felix  had  realized  that  it  was  time  to  retrace  his 
steps,  just  before  he  undertook  his  experiment.  The 
Dives  had  told  him  in  the  morning  when  he  asked  for 
his  orders,  as  he  did  every  morning  when  he  took  his 
breakfast,  that  he  would  not  be  needed  before  noon. 
It  was  a  pleasant  January  day,  and  unless  the  weather 
suddenly  changed  for  the  worse,  the  girls  had  decided 
to  drive  out  into  the  Park,  and  possibly  make  some 
calls  after  a  drive  of  an  hour  or  so. 

Promptly  at  twelve  o'clock  the  cook  was  ready  with 
the  luncheon.  The  Dives  usually  lunched  at  half- past 
twelve;  but  they  had  given  orders  for  an  early  lunch 
eon  that  day.  After  they  were  through,  the  bell  was 


A  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE.  22CJ 

rung  for  Felix.  There  was  no  response.  The  cook 
waited  a  while,  then  at  the  suggestion  of  the  elder  of 
the  Dives  he  went  to  the  stable,  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  tried  the  door  of  Felix's  room.  It  was  locked. 
When  he  came  down  he  saw  that  the  carriage  had 
been  gotten  ready;  but  the  horses  had  evidently  not 
been  fed,  for  they  whinnied  eagerly  as  the  cook 
passed. 

He  returned  to  the  kitchen,  and  reported  what  he 
had  seen.  It  seemed  very  strange  to  the  girls.  They 
had  been  anxiously  waiting  several  days  for  this  drive. 
The  weather  had  been  so  unfavorable  all  the  week, 
that  they  were  eager  to  get  out  when  at  last  the  sun 
shone  and  the  wind  ceased  to  blow.  They  felt  not  a 
little  disappointed  when  the  clock  struck  one  and 
Felix  had  not  appeared.  They  felt  quite  sure  that 
something  had  occurred  to  prevent  his  return. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
SHARP'S  BAD  DAY. 

"  Unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles:  Infedled  minds 

To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets. ' ' 

— Shakespeare. 

Whilst  Octavia  was  at  the  hospital,  Sharp  was  having 
a  real  good  time.  He  had  nothing  particularly  to  do, 
but  think  and  make  plans.  He  had  gotten  himself  a 
small  office  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city,  and  had  put 
out  "  his  shingle. "  In  this  office  he  slept  and  lived 
when  he  was  not  out  on  the  streets  or  with  ' '  his 
friends,"  as  he  saw  fit  to  call  some  very  respectable 
and  some  very  disreputable  people.  He  had  gotten 
Odtavia's  affidavit  entitling  and  authorizing  him  to 
receive  her  papers,  before  she  became  ill.  This  busi 
ness  of  Odlavia's  was  the  only  business  which  had 
come  to  him  in  his  new  office.  He  had  plenty  of  time 
for  scheming,  and  he  did  not  a  little  of  that  kind  of 
business. 

About  this  time  Sharp's  funds  were  getting  low. 
He  still  had  the  watch  set  with  diamonds,  which  had 
been  brought  from  the  town  of  iron  vigor.  He  re 
solved  to  pawn  or  sell  it.  He  had  not  heard  anything 
about  the  theft  since  it  had  been  committed,  and  he 
felt  that  it  was  safe  to  "  get  an  advance  on  it,  by  put 
ting  it  in  soak." 
230 


SHARP'S  BAD  DAY.  231 

He  went  to  the  pawnbrokers  and  said  to  the  clerk: 
"  Here  is  a  good  time  piece  which  was  left  me  for  a 
fee  in  helping  a  man  out  of  a  scrape."  At  the  same 
time  he  drew  out  a  card  with  his  California  address 
and  handed  it  to  the  clerk."  I  have  a  watch,  and  I 
do  not  care  to  take  that  with  me  to  the  '  Golden 
State,'  so  I  thought  perhaps  I  could  sell  it.  What 
will  you  give  me  for  it  ?  "  The  clerk  looked  at  it  with 
a  glass  for  some  time.  Then  he  took  it  to  the  propri 
etor,  and  they  two  looked  it  over.  Sharp  became 
anxious.  It  was  a  question  with  him  whether  he  had 
not  better  go  without  his  watch.  They  might  be  see 
ing  something  in  the  watch  he  had  never  seen,  and  be 
knowing  more  about  where  he  got  it  than  he  at  first 
thought.  At  last  the  clerk  returned,  and  to  his  infin 
ite  relief,  said  they  would  give  him  one-hundred  dol 
lars  for  it.  Sharp  was  glad  to  get  that,  but  he  tried 
hard  to  secure  more.  The  money  was  finally  accepted 
and  he  was  gone.  He  called  on  his  friends  and 
after  some  conversation  asked  them  how  the  funds 
from  their  last  business  were.  They  told  him,  that 
whilst  there  was  still  some  left,  they  were  not  by  any 
means  ready  to  start  into  the  Loan  and  Safe  Deposit 
business.  Sharp  said:  "  Well,  how  would  you  like  to 
begin  operations  in  a  nice,  quiet  part  of  the  town  ?  I 
think  I  know  a  place  not  ten  miles  from  the  spot  where 
we  are  now  sitting,  which  will  pay  for  the  effort  re 
quired,  about  as  well  as  anything  outside  of  cleaning  the 
cobwebs  out  of  a  bank  vault,  and  that  you  all  know,  is 
a  risky  business." 


232  SHARP'S  BAD  DAY. 

"  We  never  tried  that,"  replied  the  elder  of  the  men. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  would  like  it,  if  you  were  to 
try  it;  but  this  is  private,  stridlly  private,  and  unless 
I  am  greatly  mistaken,  will  be  unattended  by  any  ser 
ious  risks.  If  you  think  you  are  ready  to  go  into  it  in 
the  course  of  a  week  or  two,  I  will  tell  you  the  place." 

"  The  cops  in  this  town  are  all  eyes,"  said  the 
younger  of  the  men. 

"  Yes,  the  police  are  awake  here,  but  you  need  not 
tell  them  anything  of  your  work.  Leave  the  re 
sults  in  some  out  house,  or  if  necessary,  bury 
them  for  a  while  on  the  premises,  and  then  take 
them  home  by  day.  That  is  much  safer  anyway  than 
lugging  the  goods  home  at  night,  when  they  are  of 
considerable  bulk,  as  these  would  necessarily  be." 

Sharp  went  on  to  tell  to  what  the  pile  which  he 
wished  them  to  put  into  some  safe  place,  in  his  judg 
ment,  would  in  all  probability  amount.  He  said  some 
little  charity  might  be  necessary  for  the  door-keeper; 
but  a  little  would  satisfy  him.  He  himself  would  not 
wish  much  of  the  net  proceeds.  When  he  finished 
he  found  them  very  eager  to  enter  upon  the  ' '  little 
business"  at  once;  but  he  told  them  that  he  had  not 
mapped  out  the  plans  sufficiently.  They  must  wait  a 
day  or  two. 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  when  Sharp  quit  the  place 

on  W street  on  his  way  to  the  elevated  road.  He 

had  the  one-hundred  dollars  in  his  vest  pocket.  In 
addition  to  this  he  had  the  diamond  stud ,  and  his  own 
watch,  which  his  wife  had  bought  him  with  the  money 


SHARP'S  BAD  DAY.  233 

she  had  earned  with  her  needle.  She  had  given  it  a 
Christmas  gift  to  him  the  Christmas  before  he  eloped 
with  her.  We  have  a  number  of  times  already  said 
that  Sharp  was  a  coward,  and  we  have  proven  it  on 
different  occasions.  We  need  therefore  only  remind 
our  readers,  that  Sharp  was  a  coward,  and  although 
himself  a  thief,  he  was  afraid  of  thieves. 

He  was  walking  along  briskly,  for  he  was  afraid, 
and  it  was  cold.  When  he  got  to  the  corner  of  Chris 
topher  and  Bleeker  streets  a  man  stepped  out  of  the 
shadow  of  a  door-step  behind  which  he  had  been  con 
cealed,  and  rushing  in  front  of  him  he  leveled  a  revol 
ver  at  him,  and  said,  "  Throw  up  your  hands,  and  be 
quick  about  it." 

Sharp  had  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  to  keep 
them  warm;  but  his  thin,  tapering  fingers  and  blood 
less  palms  soon  were  stretched  high  above  his  head, 
whilst  his  teeth  began  to  chatter.  The  highway-man 
realized  that  the  victim  before  him  was  game,  so  he 
took  his  revolver  in  his  left  hand  and  went  through 
Sharp's  pockets  with  his  right.  First  he  took  the 
watch,  the  Christmas  gift  of  poor  Minnie.  Her  pale 
face  and  beseeching  eyes  came  before  Sharp  for  an 
instant  as  he  stood  there  on  the  street  with  uplifted 
hands.  For  a  moment  he  saw  that  face;  but  it  was 
forgotten  when  the  thief  reached  into  Sharp's  pocket 
and  hauled  out  the  wad  of  bills,  the  proceeds  of  the 
sale  of  the  watch  set  in  diamonds.  Sharp  groaned  as 
the  man  stuck  them  into  his  pocket.  Then  came  the 
stud,  which  also  changed  ownership.  In  spite  of  his 


234  SHARP'S  BAD  DAY.    t 

fear  Sharp  was  getting  angry.  He  swore  a  dreadful 
oath  which  made  the  highway-man  start.  It  was  not 
because  he  was  unaccustomed  to  hear  men  swear,  but 
because  there  was  a  familiarity  in  the  tone  of  voice 
which  the  man  recognized.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
he  recognized  the  voice,  or  because  he  felt  that  he  had 
all  that  was  worth  having,  that  caused  him  to 
straighten  himself  and  look  at  his  vidlim.  Sharp  also 
scrutinized  the  robber.  He  was  a  short,  chunky  fel 
low.  His  fat  face  was  surmounted  with  a  big  black 
beard  which  Sharp  could  not  tell  from  a  natural  growth, 
which  it  was  not.  The  fellow  wore  a  cap  fitting  his 
head  closely.  It  came  down  over  his  ears  and  almost 
to  his  eyes,  so  that  one  who  would  not  have  been 
as  badly  scared  as  Sharp  was,  could  have  told  the 
color  of  the  hair  on  the  man's  head. 

After  looking  Sharp  full  into  the  face  a  moment,  he 
said:  "Be  gone,  you  knave."  Stepping  aside  he 
let  Sharp  pass  on.  "  Don't  look  around,'"  he  called 
after  him,  "  or  it  will  be  your  last  look." 

When  Sharp  did  look  around,  which  was  as  soon  as 
his  fear  permitted  him,  the  thief  was  gone.  Sharp 
met  a  policeman  about  a  square  away  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  been  robbed,  and  in  a  loud  and  angry 
tone  of  voice  began  berating  the  officer  because  he  had 
permitted  a  man  to  be  robbed  under  his  very  nose. 
The  policeman  tried  to  get  the  particulars;  but  Sharp 
was  almost  hysterical  in  his  conduct,  and  the  officer 
finally  left  him  in  disgust,  resolved  to  try  to  do  the 


SHARP'S  BAD  DAY.  235 

best  he  could  to  find  the  thief.     It  is  needless  to  add 
that  he  did  not  find  him. 

When  Sharp  paid  his  car  fare  he  found  that  he  had 
fifty- five  cents  less  than  he  had  had  that  forenoon. 
Fifty*cents  of  this  had  gone  for  two  much  needed 
meals.  What  should  he  do  ?  He  thought  of  the  ad 
visability  of  borrowing  from  the  cook,  or — he  hesitated 
to  think  the  thought  fully  in  his  own  soul — perhaps 
he  could  hold  up  some  lady  on  the  Avenue,  for  he 
felt  that  he  must  go  up  that  way  in  a  day  or  two. 
Sharp  would  have  held  up  any  man  or  woman 
his  cowardice  would  have  permitted;  but  that  sin  he 
never  committed,  simply  because  he  was  afraid  to  try. 

That  night  Sharp  crept  to  his  room  like  a  whipped 
dog.  He  felt  miserably  ashamed  of  his  condudt  in  the 
hands  of  a  thief,  and  then  at  the  manner  in  which  he 
ranted  at  the  policeman.  He  tried  to  sleep,  but  he 
could  not.  Finally  he  had  composed  himself  and  was 
about  to  doze  away  when  he  saw  standing,  as  he  im 
agined,  just  outside  the  window  toward  which  his  bed 
faced,  the  form  of  a  woman.  She  had  the  face  of 
Minnie,  the  wife  whom  he  had  as  yet  not  divorced.  She 
gazed  upon  him  with  a  sad,  solemn  look.  The  lines 
of  care  which  had  impressed  themselves  on  his  mem 
ory  the  last  time  he  had  looked  upon  her,  when  he 
was  driven  from  her  and  her  mother's  presence,  had 
faded  from  her  face,  and  instead  of  them  one  of  inde 
scribable  peace  had  taken  their  place.  Her  golden  curl* 
were  parted  from  her  pure,  white  face  and  hung  in 
wavy  lines  upon  the  snowy  white  garment  which  en- 


236  SHARP'S  BAD  DAY. 

tirely  concealed  her  form.  Yes,  he  was  awake.  He 
was  not  dreaming.  He  saw  the  outlines  of  the  win 
dow  behind  her,  through  her,  it  seemed — on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  street.  He  shut  his  eyes  to  hide  the 
vision  of  beauty  from  his  guilty  soul.  In  a  moment  he 
opened  them  again,  and  the  form  was  still  there.  It 
was  Minnie!  He  could  not  be  mistaken.  Cold  drops 
of  sweat  oozed  from  the  pores  of  his  clammy  skin  and 
stood  in  great  beads  on  his  face.  His  teeth  again 
chattered  as  they  had  done  a  few  hours  before  when 
he  had  seen  that  face  on  the  street,  not  as  distinctly, 
as  terribly  real,  as  now.  From  the  very  first  day  he 
had  met  her  until  he  had  tried  to  poison  her  and  her 
mother,  and  his  own  sweet  baby,  every  scene  of  their 
life  came  before  him;  and  still  the  pretty,  sweet, 
though  awfully  solemn  form  stood  there  in  mid-air 
before  his  window.  He  felt  the  marrow  in  his  bones 
chill  as  one  scene  after  another  of  his  awful  duplicity, 
viciousness  and  guilt  came  before  him.  He  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  ' '  Great  God !  "  he  fairly  screamed, 
as  he  jumped  from  his  bed  and  rushed  toward  the  win 
dow. 

When  he  became  conscious  he  found  himself  lying 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  window.  His  limbs  were 
stiff  with  cold,  and  his  fingers  numb.  The  vision  in 
front  of  the  window  was  gone.  He  crawled  to  the 
table  and  with  difficulty  struck  a  match  and  lit  his 
lamp.  In  sheer  desperation  he  lit  a  cigar  and 
smoked,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  couch  with  his 
'blankets  wrapped  about  him.  Before  he  lay  down, 
the  cold  gray  dawn  had  crept  into  his  room  and 
dimmed  the  light  of  his  lamp. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

' '  There  is  a  divinity  which  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

Several  of  the  evening  papers  that  night  contained  a 
notice  of  the  events  described  in  a  former  chap 
ter.  Our  readers  can  best  learn  the  particulars 
by  perusing  one  of  the  accounts  which  we  have  seen 
fit  to  transcribe.  It  is  as  follows: 

"A  MODERN  MIRACLE. 

A  CHILD  SAVED  FROM  BEING  DASHED  TO  PIECES  : 
A  YOUNG  MAN  is  KEPT  GAZING  ON  AN  OPEN 

WINDOW  IN  THE  FIFTH  STORY  OF  THE 

BLOCK,  CORNER  OF  BROADWAY  AND 

STREET,  UNTIL  HE  SEES  LEAPING 
THEREFROM  THE   FOUR- YEAR 
OLD  CHILD  OF  MR.  ABRA 
HAM,   WHICH 

He  Saves  from  Instant  Death  by  Catching  It 
In  His  Arms. 

"This  morning  when  Mr.  Abraham  went  to  his  store 
to  attend  to  his  daily  tasks,  his  little  four-year  old  boy, 
Benny,  who  is  a  great  favorite  of  the  entire  family, 
and  especially  of  his  father,  begged  to  be  taken  to  the 
store.  The  father  finally  consented  with  the  under- 

237 


238  FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

standing  that  the  nurse  should  come  before  luncheon, 
and  take  the  little  fellow  home.  The  father,  after 
giving  some  directions  to  the  shipping  clerks,  was 
called  to  the  fifth  story  of  the  building.  The  little 
boy  ran  with  him  wherever  he  went.  He  had  insisted 
on  taking  his  little  dog,  Jib,  with  him.  This  fact 
nearly  cost  the  child  his  life — would  have  cost  it,  we 
may  add — had  not  a  higher  Power  intervened. 

' '  Whilst  Mr.  Abraham  was  busily  engaged  on  the 
fifth  story,  as  already  indicated,  a  young  man  was 
standing  on  the  corner  opposite  the  wholesale  house, 
staring  at  the  open  window  in  the  room  of  which  the 
child,  the  father,  and  several  clerks  were  engaged. 
The  passers-by  on  the  street  below  noticed  the  young 
man  standing  as  if  riveted  to  the  spot,  staring  at  the 
window.  This  strange  circumstance  attracted  atten 
tion.  Every  son  and  daughter  of  pur  common  mother, 
Eve,  has  a  vein  of  curiosity  in  their  make  up.  This 
vein  of  curiosity  sometimes  overspreads  and  entirely 
paralyzes  the  other  faculties  of  the  soul.  It  seemed 
to  have  done  so  in  the  case  of  most  of  the  passers-by 
at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and Street  this  morn 
ing.  It  was  not  long  before  a  large  crowd  had  gath 
ered  around  the  young  man  who  stood  gazing  spell 
bound  at  the  open  window  mentioned.  To  all  the 
questions  which  the  crowd  asked  of  him  and  each 
other  the  young  man  answered  never  a  word. 

"A  policeman,  who  from  a  few  rods  away,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  had  first  noticed  the  young 
man  looking  up  and  down  the  street,  as  if  in  search  of 
something,  and  then  saw  him  finally  rivet  his  gaze  on 
the  window  mentioned,  wondered  what  it  all  meant, 
and  kept  his  eye  on  the  stranger,  who  wore  a  white, 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  black  suit.  Finally  the 
crowd  became  so  large  that  it  threatened  to  create  a 


FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST.  239 

jam.  The  carriage  containing  the  nurse  of  the  child 
which  was  so  miraculously  preserved  from  death,  had 
just  driven  up  to  the  store  for  its  charge,  when  the 
policeman,  who  was  crossing  the  street,  intent  on  dis 
persing  the  crowd,  and  finding  out  the  cause  of  the 
queer  conduct  of  the  man  who  had  first  attracted  his 
attention,  heard  a  loud  cry  from  the  crowd  that  was 
staring  upwards.  At  the  same  time  the  young 
man  rushed  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  which 
happened  to  be  clear  in  front  of  him,  and  caught 
the  little  boy,  who  flew  straight  into  his  arms, 
as  if  that  had  been  his  objective  point  from  the 
start.  The  force  with  which  the  little  one  struck 
the  breast  of  the  young  man  caused  him  to  stag 
ger  backwards  and  trip  and  fall.  By  this  time  the 
policeman  was  at  his  side.  He  helped  him  up  out  of 
the  dirt,  and  relieving  him  of  his  little  charge,  asked 
him  to  accompany  him  into  the  building. 

"  When  the  father,  five  stories  above,  realized  that 
his  child,  in  wildly  chasing  its  dog  about  the  room  had 
run  toward  the  open  window  and  had  been  unable 
to  change  its  course,  had  actually  leaped  into  the 
street  forty-five  or  fifty  feet  below,  he  was  with  diffi 
culty  restrained  from  leaping  after  it.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  that  it  had  been  caught  by  some  one 
below.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that  the  elevator  went 
too  slowly  for  Mr.  Abraham  as  it  bore  him  down  to  his 
little  son,  whom  he  found  seated  on  a  bale  of  goods, 
with  the  policeman,  the  rescuer,  and  all  the  clerks  and 
book-keepers  of  that  floor  around  him.  What  seemed 
almost  incredible  to  all  was  the  fact  that  outside  of  a 
little  nervousness,  the  child  was  practically  unhurt. 
When  the  little  fellow  saw  his  father  he,  half  crying 
and  half  laughing,  said,  '  Papa,  me  and  Jib  flied  out  of 


240  FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

the  window.'     It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  dog  had 
not  '  flied.' 

' '  Mr.  Abraham  embraced  his  child  as  if  it  had  come 
back  to  him  from  death,  as  it  virtually  had  done.  Not 
being  overly  strong  himself,  he  fainted.  For  a  time  it 
was  thought  that  the  father  would  sustain  more  injury 
from  his  child's  fall  than  the  child  itself;  but  he  was 
soon  restored  to  consciousness  without  having  exper 
ienced  any  serious  effects. 

"  The  young  man,  who  is  the  real  hero  of  the  occa 
sion,  when  asked  the  cause  of  his  strange  conduct,  in 
standing  for  fully  five  minutes  staring  at  the  window, 
could  give  no  satisfactory  explanation.  It  seemed  to 
all  who  had  witnessed  the  strange  proceedings,  that 
the  whole  was  little  short  of  a  miracle.  The  young 
man  was  evidently  directed  to  the  spot  at  the  proper 
time  to  save  the  child  from  being  crushed  by  the 
impetuosity  of  its  own  fall  on  the  street  below. 

"  Our  reporter  has  been  unable  to  learn  much  of 
the  instrument  of  this  strange  deliverance.  He  gave 
his  name  as  Felix.  (We  have  not  learned  whether 
this  is  his  Christian  or  family  name.)  The  young  man 
was  in  haste  to  get  away.  He  said  he  had  an  engage 
ment  at  twelve,  and  as  it  was  then  already  one  o'clock, 
it  was  high  time  that  he  be  gone. 

"Soon  after  the  young  man  had  left,  the  father  real 
ized  that  he  had  not  obtained  his  address.  He  hereby 
earnestly  requests  that  the  young  gentleman  make 
known  his  full  name  and  address,  inasmuch  as  he  is 
unwilling  to  lose  sight  of  the  rescuer  of  his  child." 

Felix  lost  no  time  in  getting  home  and  rehearsing 
his  story.  When  he  had  ended,  Susie  Dives  asked: 
"  But,  Felix,  how  came  you  to  stand  on  the  corner  of 
the  street,  and  gaze  at  that  particular  window,  and 


FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST.  241 

how  came  a  crowd  to  collect  around  you  ?  What  was 
the  attraction  ?  I  cannot  understand  why  you  should 
stop  and  gaze  with  nothing  more  to  look  at  than  you 
had;  nor  do  I  see  why  a  crowd  should  imitate  your 
silly  example.  Explain  yourself,  if  you  please." 

Felix  blushed  scarlet  as  he  said:  "  Silly  is  the  proper 
word  to  use  in  the  explanation  of  what  I  did."  Then 
looking  at  the  cook,  who  had  come  into  the  parlor 
where  they  all  had  gathered,  when  Jennie  first  an 
nounced  Felix's  arrival,  he  told  the  ladies  how  the 
cook  had  once  told  him  that  notwithstanding  the 
eagerness  to  go  which  everybody  manifested  on  Broad 
way,  anybody  could  get  a  crowd  around  him  in  a  few 
moments  by  simply  stopping  and  staring — staring  at 
nothing.  He  said  he  had  resolved  to  try  the  experi 
ment. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  a  moment  as  if  trying 
to  decide  what  to  think  of  anything  so  silly;  but  as 
the  whole  affair  had  terminated  so  fortunately,  they 
concluded  to  join  in  the  hearty  laugh  which  the  cook 
had  begun  at  Felix's  expense.  The  cook's  face,  when 
he  laughed,  was  in  itself  sufficient  to  provoke  mirth. 
If  it  is  true,  as  Carlyle  says,  that  "Laughter  is  the 
cipher  key  wherewith  we  decipher  the  whole  man," 
then  the  cook,  as  he  stood  that  day  in  the  parlor  of  the 
Dives,  holding  his  fat  sides,  convulsed  at  the  joke 
which  he  himself  had  planned  and  Felix  had  so  admira 
bly  perpetrated,  in  his  laugh  held  out  the  key  which 
any  student  of  character  would  have  taken  and  un 
locked  therewith  the  soul  of  the  man;  but  there  was 


242  FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

no  person  there  just  then,  bent  on  such  a  study. 
When  the  cook  laughed,  his  mouth,  which,  when  his 
face  was  sober  was  nearly  entirely  hidden  by  the  great 
bunch  of  fat  that  formed  his  chin,  and  by  his  fluffy 
cheeks,  came  into  prominence.  His  eyes,  because  of 
the  effort  to  distend  his  mouth,  were  then  entirely  con 
cealed  by  the  fat  which  pushed  over  them.  At  the 
same  time  there  came  into  his  face  the  shadow  of  an 
emotion  that  was  hot  born  of  mirth,  but  rather  the 
result  of  some  hidden  sorrow,  some  awful  memory. 

"  But  whose  child  did  you  catch  from  the  jaws  of 
death?"  asked  Jennie. 

Felix  gave  the  man's  name,  when  the  girls  at  one 
and  the  same  time  shouted:  "  Well,  I  declare!  Mr. 
Abraham's  little  Bennie!  "  Susie  added:  "  Felix, 
they  are  our  neighbors.  They  are  just  the  nicest  peo 
ple  on  the  Avenue.  We  know  them.  The  mother 
and  daughter  sometimes  call  here.  There  are  only 
four  of  them,  Benny,  Louisa,  and  the  father  and 
mother.  I  guess  we  won't  continue  to  have  you  for 
our  coachman  very  long  any  more.  Mr.  Abraham 
will  surely  give  you  a  better  position  in  his  store.  He 
does  a  large  wholesale  business,  and  employs  quite  an 
army  of  men.  We  will  be  sorry  to  lose  you;  but  call 
on  us  for  a  recommendation  if  you  need  one." 

Just  then  the  clock  on  the  mantle  struck  three.  "  I 
guess  we  must  give  up  our  drive  to-day,"  said  Jennie. 
Felix  insisted  that  the  girls  should  not  think* of  it. 
He  had  not  had  lunch,  it  was  true;  but  he  did  not  feel 
at  all  hungry.  He  could  easily  wait  until  dinner  at 


FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST.  243 

six.  With  this  he  started  for  the  stable,  and  exactly 
ten  minutes  afterward  by  the  clock,  the  coach  stood  in 
front  of  the  house.  The  girls  were  ready,  and  in  a 
moment  more  they  were  gone;  but  not  to  the  park. 
They  paused  in  front  of  the  home  to  which  the  little 
boy  and  Jib  had  been  brought  an  hour  before,  and 
both  of  the  girls  had  quit  the  carriage  and  gone  to  the 
door  of  the  pretty  home  before  Felix  had  realized  that 
he  was  in  front  of  the  house  of  Mr.  Abraham,  whose 
child  he  had  been  instrumental  in  saving  from  death. 

The  girls  found  everybody  happy.  The  mother  and 
daughter  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  learn  that  the 
rescuer  of  their  little  Benny  was  in  the  employ  of  the 
Dives.  Susie  told  them,  that  Felix,  whilst  he  was 
acting  as  coachman,  was  well  educated,  had  traveled 
much  in  his  time,  and  was  not  an  Irishman,  but  a 
Pennsylvania  Dutchman,  as  he  himself  declared, 
although  he  had  not  resided  in  that  state  for  a  long 
time.  Nothing  would  do,  but  the  mother  and  daugh 
ter  must  have  an  introduction  to  "the  noble  young 
man,"  as  they  saw  fit  to  call  our  friend.  Felix  with 
not  a  little  reluctance  came  down  from  his  seat,  fast 
ened  his  horses,  and  was  ushered  into  the  parlor.  He 
answered  all  the  questions  modestly,  but  intelligently, 
until  he  was  asked  the  old  embarrassing  one,  of  how 
he  happened  to  be  standing  at  the  corner  and  watch 
ing  the  fifth  story  window  ?  He  had  two  women  with 
him  to  help  him  answer  that  question.  When  Susie 
saw  the  blushes  mantling  on  his  cheeks,  and  caught 
his  eyes  helplessly  wandering  to  hers,  in  appealing 


244  FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

looks,  as  much  as  to  say,  "This  is  too  bad,"  she  at 
once  came  to  his  rescue.  She  said-  ' '  Felix  scarcely 
knows  how  he  did  come  to  stand  there.  It  is  all  so 
strange,  is  it  not?"  The  ladies  admitted  that  it  was 
strange,  to  say  the  least,  and  so  you,  kind  reader,  will 
admit. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  the  little  company  left  the 
house  with  pressing  invitations  to  call  again,  and  to  be 
sure  to  have  their  "  friend"  come  with  them.  They 
made  a  few  more  calls  on  the  Avenue^  then  they  re 
turned  to  their  own  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FELIX  QUITS  THE  DIVES. 

"  There  is  an  hour  in  each  man's  life  appointed 
To  make  his  happiness,  if  then  he  seize  it." 

— Shakespeare. 

After  the  call  which  Felix  so  unexpectedly  made  on 
Mrs.  Abraham  and  her  daughter  the  day  the  girls 
called  to  extend  their  congratulations  at  what  seemed 
to  them  an  almost  miraculous  deliverance,  a  friend 
ship  seemed  to  spring  up  between  them  and  the  Abra 
hams.  Only  a  few  days  passed  before  Mrs.  Abraham 
and  her  daughter  returned  the  call.  Of  course  Felix 
was  a  fruitful  topic  of  conversation  not  only  on  this 
occasion,  but  ever  afterwards  when  the  ladies  met. 
In  fact  there  were  not  very  many  stupendous  events  in 
the  lives  of  the  women,  and  when  a  great  event  did  oc 
cur  they  made  the  most  of  it.  If  they  would  have 
had  a  family  of  children  to  look  after,  it  would  have 
been  different.  Other  people's  children  and  cares  did 
not  enter  their  lives  very  materially,  so  they  had 
plenty  of  time  on  their  hands.  To  say  that  the  Dives 
did  not  think  of  anybody  but  themselves,  would  be 
doing  them  a  gross  injustice.  They  were  kind  hearted 
and  all  they  lacked  was  some  one  to  show  them  how 
they  might  be  more  useful  in  the  world  than  they 
were.  They  did  support  with  their  means  the  chari- 

245 


246  FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES. 

ties  of  the  church  of  which  they  were  members;  but 
they  gave  of  their  affluence,  and  did  not  feel  that 
they  were  doing  much.  To  all  invitations  to  attend 
guilds  and  society  meetings  they  had  but  one  answer. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  conversation  with 
these  ladies  whenever  they  met,  for  more  than  a 
year  after  Felix  had  saved  Benny  from  an  early  death, 
the  young  man,  as  already  said  was  a  topic  of  conver 
sation  of  which  they  never  wearied.  Where  was  his 
home  ?  How  came  they  to  bring  him  with  them  to 
the  city  ?  These  and  similar  questions  they  asked  the 
Dives  again  and  again.  Only  ten  days  had  passed 
since  Benny  ' '  flied ' '  through  the  air,  and  the  girls 
had  seen  each  other  oftener  than  during  ten  years  be 
fore;  but  Mr.  Abraham  had  not  called  as  yet.  He  as 
a  usual  thing  thought  well  before  he  acted.  Mrs. 
Abraham  asked  him  several  times  why  he  did  not  call 
on  Felix  and  engage  him  in  his  business.  To  be  a 
coachman  was  not  the  thing  for  so  promising  a  young 
man  as  he  seemed.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
have  an  interview  with  the  young  man.  Before  eight 
o'clock  one  morning,  the  door-bell  at  the  Dives'  home 
rang.  The  girls  were  surprised  to  see  when  the  card 
was  handed  them,  that  their  early  caller  was  Mr. 
Abraham.  Holding  the  card  up  before  Felix  who  was 
sitting  at  the  table  eating  an  early  break  fast,  because 
he  had  some  special  duties  that  morning,  Susie  Dives 
said  to  him,  "Felix,  that  means  you  are  going  to 
leave  our  employ." 

When  Susie  came  into  the  parlor  Mr.  Abraham  rose 


FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES.  247 

and  afteif  bidding  her  good-morning  in  a  most  cordial 
manner,  he  told  her,  that  he  had  really  not  called  to 
see  her.  Felix  was  the  person  whom  he  wished  to 
see;  but  as  he  never  did  business  in  an  underhanded 
manner,  he  thought  he  would  first  make  known  his 
errand  to  the  girls.  He  had  come  with  a  view  of  call 
ing  the  young  man  into  his  employ,  as  a  means  of  ex 
pressing  his  gratitude  for  what  he  had  done  for  his 
son,  Benny.  Miss  Susie  said,  that  however  loath  they 
might  be  to  see  Felix  quit  their  home  they  felt  that  he 
was  fitted  for  more  responsible  positions  than  that  of 
coachman,  and  that  for  his  sake  they  would  be  glad 
to  have  Mr.  Abraham  offer  Felix  the  opportunity  to 
rise.  When  Mr.  Abraham  asked  where  he  would  be  able 
to  find  the  young  man,  Susie  told  him  that  she  would 
call  him  into  the  parlor. 

When  Felix  was  ushered  into  the  parlor,  Mr.  Abra 
ham  looked  him  over  from  head  to  foot  carefully,  al 
most  calculatingly.  That  was  the  habit  which  he  had 
practiced  many  years  already  when  anybody  came  to 
him  for  a  job,  and  now  that  he  went  after  some  one  to 
give  him  a  job  he  did  not  think  of  what  he  was  doing. 
He  had  returned  Felix's  greeting  meanwhile.  After 
the  inspection,  he  said  to  Felix:  "Young  man,  you 
know  that  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  to  say  the 
least,  and  since  I  am  not  a  man  to  leave  my  debts  un 
paid  longer  that  I  can  help,  I  came  to  see  you  this 
morning.  I  know  that  I  cannot  pay  you  what  I  owe 
you  as  I  pay  for  a  case  of  silk  handkerchiefs;  but  I  can 
at  least  show  you  that  I  am  grateful.  What  can  you 


248  FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES. 

do  besides  driving  horses  and  washing  carriage  wheels  ? 
I  could  give  you  that  work  in  my  employ,  but  if  I  can 
give  you  nothing  better,  you  might  as  well  stay  where 
you  are.  I  think  that  you  will  acknowledge  that  you 
cannot  get  better  masters  than  you  now  have."  With 
out  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  continued,  "  Do  you  know 
anything  about  business  ?  You  saw,  no  doubt,  that  I  am 
in  the  wholesale  Gent's  furnishing  business  ?  lam. 
about  to  lose  my  best  book-keeper;  but  I  guess  you 
don't  know  anything  about  that  business.  Do  you  ?  " 
Here  Abraham  stopped  to  get  his  breath,  and  to  give 
Felix  a  chance  to  reply.  It  really  was  the  first  time 
that  a  reply  would  be  of  any  weight  to  either  Abraham 
or  Felix.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  that  he  had 
not  granted  him  the  opportunity  before. 

Felix  candidly  replied  that  he  had  no  practical 
knowledge  of  book-keeping.  He  had  a  good,  common 
school  education  which  he  had  gotten  before  he  went 
out  into  the  world,  and  that  he  had  supplemented  this 
by  attending  night-school  in  Chicago,  and  in  Denver, 
during  the  greater  part  of  two  winters. 

Mr.  Abraham  replied:  "  Well,  we  will  see  what  your 
theoretical  knowledge  is  worth.  Come  to  my  place  of 
business  next  Monday  morning  at  eight.  I  will  give 
you  the  place  which  will  then  be  vacant  in  my  office. 
If  you  suit  you  will  get  $100  per  month,  with  the  pos 
sibility  of  rising  in  wages,  if  not  in  position.  The  men 
who  hold  positions  below  you  will  perhaps  not  like 
that  an  '  outsider  '  comes  into  the  place  which  might 
have  been  filled  by  a  promotion,  but  that  is  my  busi- 


FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES.  249 

ness. ' '  When  Mr.  Abraham  had  said  this,  he  repeated, 
"On  Monday  at  eight,"  took  Felix's  hand,  shook  it 
warmly,  and  was  gone. 

When  Felix  came  into  the  dining  room,  Susie 
Dives  said:  "  Felix,  we  are  nearly  consumed  with 
curiosity.  What  is  it  ?  " 

Felix  frankly  told  the  girl  who,  he  felt,  had  an  in 
terest  in  him. 

She  replied:  "  We  knew  that  he  would  offer  you  a 
position;  but  we  did  not  dream  that  it  would  be  quite 
so  good  as  that." 

Felix  continued  the  coachman  of  the  Dives  until 
Saturday  evening.  He  had  engaged  a  room  in  a  pri 
vate  boarding  house  on  the  Avenue,  a  few  squares 
from  the  Dives.  The  family  had  failed  in  fortune, 
and  the  husband  had  died.  The  widow  and  her  son 
were  taking  care  of  themselves. 

When  Monday  morning  came,  Felix  was  up  bright 
and  early.  By  eight  o'clock  he  stood  in  front  of  the 
office-door  of  Mr.  Abraham,  patiently  waiting  until  the 
book-keepers  came  and  opened.  The  first  man  who 
came,  Felix  asked  whether  Mr.  Abraham  had  come. 
"  That  gentleman,"  said  the  man  spoken  to,  somewhat 
condescendingly,  "has  not  arrived  yet.  We  gener 
ally  attend  to  the  business  here.  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"  I  will  see  Mr.  Abraham,  if  you  please,"  replied 
Felix. 

' '  All  right,  my  boy.  He  will  probably  send  you  to 
me  or  to  the  fellow  just  coming  there,"  (pointing  to 


250  FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES. 

the  other  book-keeper  who  was  just  entering  the  door) 
"or  perhaps  to  one  of  the  clerks,"  he  added  signifi 
cantly. 

Just  then  Abraham  entered  the  establishment,  and 
walking  up  to  Felix,  he  took  him  warmly  by  the 
hand  and  said,  "  Glad  to  see  you  on  time,  young  man. 
Walk  in, ' '  leading  the  way  into  the  office.  ' '  That 
will  be  your  place,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  stool  at  the 
desk  next  to  his  own.  Then  he  introduced  Felix  to 
the  two  gentlemen  who  had  preceded  Abraham  and 
Felix  into  the  office.  "  Mr.  Slogan  and  Mr.  Jones," 
indicating  with  a  look  who  was  Mr.  Jones  and  who 

Slogan,  "this  is  Felix ,  who  takes  the  place  of 

Mr.  Black,  who  left  us  on  Saturday." 

The  two  men  acknowledged  the  introduction,  then 
made  faces  at  each  other,  which  grimaces  Abraham 
did  not  see,  but  Felix  did. 

Soon  Felix  was  busy  at  work  crediting  drafts 
which  had  come  in  abundance  that  morning,  in  pay 
ment  of  goods.  He  asked  no  questions,  but  kept  on 
hunting  the  names  of  the  customers  and  entering  the 
amounts  to  their  credit,  as  if  he  had  had  those  books 
in  his  care  for  a  score  of  years.  Finally  one  of  the 
two  men  had  occasion  to  go  to  Felix's  desk.  He 
looked  at  the  entry  the  latter  was  just  making,  and 
then  turning  to  the  other  he  nodded  his  head  very  ap 
provingly.  Abraham  saw  it  and  smiled  a  smile  of  sat 
isfaction  which  lit  up  his  large,  round,  German  face 
like  a  full  moon. 


FELIX  QUITS  THE  DIVES.  251 

Things  went  on  very  satisfactorily  in  the  office.  He 
treated  the  men  who  had  been  in  Abraham's  employ 
ment  with  respect,  and  they  in  turn  could  not  help  but 
do  the  same;  but  the  shipping  clerk  on  the  first  floor, 
who  had  confidently  expected  to  go  into  Abraham's 
office  when  a  change  would  occur,  was  green  with 
envy.  This  man  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
play  a  little  trick  on  the  "  cowboy,"  as  he  delighted 
to  call  Felix.  One  morning  before  the  book-keeper 
came,  he  took  a  piece  of  shoe-maker's  wax,  large  as  a 
hickory-nut,  and  flattened  it  out  on  the  three-legged 
stool  on  which  Felix  sat  when  at  work.  He  knew 
that  in  all  probability  Felix  would  pull  his  chair  out 
from  under  the  desk  to  which  he  always  shoved  it 
when  he  left  his  work,  and  never  looking,  would  sit 
down  upon  It.  After  a  while  the  wax  would  get  warm 
and  then  it  would  stick  him  to  his  business  close  as 
wax  can.  To  his  horror,  when  the  book-keepers  came 
in  next  morning  after  he  had  fixed  the  wax,  whilst 
Felix  was  hanging  up  his  ulster  and  the  clerk  was 
already  beginning  to  grin  in  anticipation  of  the  fun 
in  store,  Abraham  himself  pulled  out  the  chair,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  on  the  ledger  on  the  desk,  sat  on  the 
stool  in  perfect  composure.  He  leafed  over  the  en 
tries  Felix  had  been  making,  admiring  the  penman 
ship  which  seemed  to  improve  with  each  day's 
writing,  as  well  it  might,  for  Felix  practiced  assidu 
ously  each  evening  in  his  room.  Finally  shutting  the 
book  approvingly,  he  said  to  Felix,  at  the  same  time 
keeping  his  feet  on  the  rung  of  the  stool  and  attempting 


252  FEUX  QUITS  THE  DIVES. 

to  rise,  "  Here,  young  man,  is  your  place."  But  there 
was  the  report  of  goods  tearing,  and  when  Abraham 
finally  got  away  from  the  chair  there  remained  a  piece 
of  the  seat  of  his  pantaloons,  the  size  of  two  hands 
spread  to  their  utmost  extent,  on  the  stool,  and  Mr. 
Abraham,  reaching  back  to  where  that  cloth  had  been, 
felt  the  smooth  texture  of  his  silk  underwear.  To  say 
that  he  was  mad,  would  be  stating  it  mildly.  In  a 
moment  the  truth  flashed  upon  him,  and  then  his 
anger  changed,  and  he  too  laughed  with  the  three  in 
the  office.  He  read  the  faces  before  him,  and  saw 
that  they  were  innocent.  He  looked  through  the 
glass  with  which  the  office  was  enclosed  and  saw  that 
all  the  clerks  on  that  floor  were  convulsed  with  laugh 
ter.  He  knew  that  they  were  in  the  joke.  The  ship 
ping  clerk  alone,  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  beet,  was 
walking  toward  the  back  part  of  the  store.  Then 
turning  to  Felix,  he  said:  "The  wax  was  evidently 

intended   for  you.     Well,  Mr.  ,"  mentioning  the 

shipper's  name,  "will  be  relieved  from  the  new 
responsibility  he  has  taken  upon  himself,  in  trying  to 
have  people  in  this  office  stick  to  their  business  like 
that."  Then  he  stepped  to  the  telephone  and  ordered 
his  carriage.  Next  he  called  the  shipping-clerk  and 
said  to  him:  "  Get  your  pay  this  evening.  I  will  not 
need  you  after  to-day.  You  are  over- worked  and  need 
rest. ' '  That  evening  the  clerk  was  paid  and  given  five 
dollars  extra,  as  Abraham  said,  for  the  special  work  he 
had  done  that  day.  The  young  man  did  not  deny 
that  he  had  put  the  wax  on  the  chair,  because  he 


FELIX  QUITS  THE  DIVES.  253 

knew  that  it  was  useless.     From  that  time  Felix  was 
never  annoyed  by  anybody  in  the  establishment. 

We  cannot  close  this  chapter  without  commenting 
on  the  good  fortune  that  had  attended  Felix  ever  since 
he  had  come  from  California.  Not  only  had  he  won 
the  friendship  of  the  estimable  ladies  in  whose  em 
ployment  he  had  been  brought  from  the  Pacific  coast, 
but  he  had  won  the  best  position  that  Mr.  Abraham 
had  in  his  power  to  give  just  then.  It  was  luck,  mere 
foolishness,  which  had  opened  the  latter  place  to  him; 
but;  if  he  had  spent  his  evenings  as  thousands  of 
young  men  do  who  have  opportunities  such  as  Felix 
never  had,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  fill  the 
place  which  luck,  or  whatever  we  may  choose 
to  call  it,  opened  for  him.  It  has  been  well  said, 
opportunity  has  hair  on  the  front  of  her  head,  behind 
she  is  bald.  If  you  do  not  catch  her  in  front  (that  is 
before  she  passes,)  you  will  not  be  able  to  hold  her. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FELIX  AND  SHARP  IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  DIVES. 

' '  When  change  itself  can  give  no  more 
'Tis  easy  to  be  true." — Sir  Chas.  Sedley. 

Three  months  after  Miss  Octavia  Newman,  M.  D., 
last  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  dear  old  home  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  she  entered  it  again.  She  would 
scarcely  have  been  recognized  by  those  who  had  only 
a  casual  acquaintance  with  her.  She  was  completely 
changed.  Her  hair,  as  we  have  already  said,  was  thin 
and  white.  Her  face  was  still  pale  and  what  was 
more,  deep  lines  which  coming  vigor  and  growth  in 
flesh  would  be  unable  to  remove,  had  planted  the 
evidences  of  care  and  suffering  beneath  her  eyes  and 
round  her  mouth.  Her  form  was  still  erect  and  dig 
nified.  The  ambition  which  had  held  her  head  erect 
for  years  had  not  completely  deserted  her.  It  seemed 
to  grow  to  its  old  dimensions  with  the  strength  of  her 
body.  With  it  grew  her  former  pride.  In  less  than 
three  months  after  she  had  left  the  hospital,  she 
seemed  her  former  self.  She  had  not  heard  from 
home,  and  she  did  not  care.  She  now  rather  played 
the  role  of  the  inj  ured  party.  They  did  not  care  for  her, 
why  should  she  worry  about  them.  They  had  been 
so  long  apart  and  she  had  experienced  so  much  since 
254 


IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  DIVES.  255 

last  they  had  things  in  common,  she  feared  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  them  to  enjoy  each  other's  society. 

When  the  attending  physician  told  her  one  day,  as 
she  visited  the  Island,  that  during  her  worst  illness  he 
had  received  a  telegram  from  her  brother,  inform 
ing  her  of  the  death  of  his  little  daughter,  she  felt 
that  she  should  write  and  make  a  full  explanation  of 
why  she  did  not  attend  the  funeral.  She  would  write 
to  him,  and  that  soon.  But  she  put  it  off  for  several 
days  for  want  of  time,  and  then  when  she  felt  that  she 
ha,d  time,  she  asked  herself,  even  when  she  had 
taken  her  pen  in  hand,  why  she  should  write  now, 
when  several  months  had  already  passed  since  the 
child's  death.  It  would  only  open  the  wounds  afresh 
in  their  hearts,  now  that  time  had  begun  to  heal  them. 

One  evening  toward  the  close  of  winter  she  sat  in 
her  room  by  the  radiator  from  which  the  soft  rays  of 
warmth  were  coming,  she  thought  of  the  kindness  of 
the  Dives  in  thus  giving  her  a  home  when  she  was  in 
reality  giving  them  nothing  in  return  except  a  little 
medical  advice  now  and  then.  She  made  up  her 
mind  then  and  there,  that  however  agreeable  the  life 
she  was  now  living  (the  Dives  had  insisted  that  she 
should  not  go  out  to  care  for  the  sick  all  that  winter) 
so  soon  as  she  received  her  property  she  would  insist 
on  compensating  them  for  their  kindness.  She  felt 
that  whatever  she  might  do  after  she  received  her 
inheritance,  until  then  this  home  was  the  very  best 
place  for  her.  The  book  on  hygiene  which  she  had 
been  reading  fell  from  her  hand  into  her  lap,  and  be- 


256  FEUX  AND  SHARP 

fore  she  knew  it  she  was  dreaming.  She  again  dreamt 
that  Sharp  came  to  her.  He  smiled  the  smile  which 
he  always  had  when  he  felt  that  things  had  gone  well. 
He  had  in  his  hand  several  envelopes.  These,  after 
giving  her  a  cordial  greeting,  he  handed  to  her,  saying, 
' '  Here  are  the  documents  at  last.  It  took  a  long  time  to 
secure  them;  but  the  will  had  to  be  probated.  You  will 
find  the  deeds  to  the  ranch  and  to  the  property  in  the 
city  both."  She  dreamt,  she  took  them  both  out  of  his 
hand, opened  them, and  read  them  hastily.  Then  she  had 
asked  him  the  same  question  with  regard  to  compensa 
tion  that  she  had  asked  him  in  her  dream  before  she  went 
to  the  hospital.  His  reply  was  the  same  that  he  had 
then  given.  He  told  her  that  she  herself,  given  to  him 
soul  and  body,  was  the  only  fee  he  would  accept. 
Again  she  saw  herself  turn  her  head  away  to  avoid  his 
piercing  gaze.  When  she  looked  around  he  had  as  on 
the  former  occasion,  turned  into  a  deadly  serpent  with 
his  head  towering  over  her  ready  to  strike  his  poison 
ous  fangs  deep  into  her  head  and  heart.  When  she 
awoke  from  this  dreadful  dream  it  was  to  answer  the 
summons  of  Jennie  Dives.  She  had  come  to  tell  her 
that  Mr.  Sharp  was  in  the  parlor  inquiring  for  her. 

Felix,  who  we  have  seen,  left  the  Dives  soon  after 
the  holidays  to  enter  the  store  of  Mr.  Abraham,  had 
come  over  to  see  the  girls  that  evening.  Ever  since 
he  left  the  employ  of  the  Dives  he  looked  upon  them 
as  his  best  friends.  Miss  Abraham  too,  looked  upon 
him  as  a  friend  of  their  family.  She  one  time  said  to 
the  Dives  girls:  "  No  matter  whether  Felix  is  rich  or 


IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  DIVES.  257 

poor,  whether  he  belongs  to  an  old  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  family  whose  ancestors  came  over  here  many 
years  ago,  as  you  intimate  that  he  does,  we  do  know 
that  he  saved  the  life  of  our  Benny,  and  that  is  enough. 
Papa  says  he  intends  to  make  him  his  head  book 
keeper,  if  not  his  private  secretary.  Papa  says  that  he 
ought  to  have  a  private  secretary.  He  gets  so  many 
letters  which  contain  questions  and  information  which 
ought  to  be  confidential  with  him  alone,  and  not 
known  to  everybody  in  his  office,  as  is  the  case  now." 

So  Fannie  Abraham's  little  saucy  looking  mouth  ran 
on,  speaking  the  praises  of  Felix  and  prophesying  his 
future  greatness,  until  the  Dives  themselves  fell  in 
love  with  Felix.  They  felt  sure  that  that  was  what 
Fannie  was  doing,  or  had  already  done,  whether  she 
knew  it  or  not.  It  might  be  that  this  little  lady  did 
not  know  that  she  was  yielding  her  heart  to  a  man 
who  had  never  sued  for  it,  nor  had  even  ever  dreamt  of 
so  doing. 

Miss  Fannie,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was  the  only 
daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Abraham.  She  was  now 
eighteen,  had  graduated  from  the  New  York  City 
high  school  and  had  had  the  best  music  and  art  teach 
ers  which  the  money  of  Mr.  Abraham  could  procure. 
Both  parents  thought  of  going  to  Europe  so  soon  as 
they  would  be  able  to  feel  that  the  husband's  large 
business  was  in  safe  hands.  Then  they  expedled  their 
daughter  to  complete  her  education,  as  they  fondly 
said  to  her. 


258  FEUX  AND  SHARP 

The  girls  had,  soon  after  they  came  from  the  hospi 
tal,  (when  Odlavia  confessed  that  she  thought  that 
Felix  might  be  the  supposedly  dead  brother,)  frankly 
asked  Felix  all  about  his  family  history;  but  he  had 
at  the  same  time  told  the  girls  that  he  had  his  own 
private  reasons  for  not  talking  much  about  his  parents. 
By  and  by  he  would  go  home  and  all  would  be  well. 
Where  that  home  is  and  who  his  parents  are,  or  were, 
we  too  will  find  out  at  the  proper  time;  but  for  the 
present  it  is  a  secret  with  the  Dives.  They  are  a  good 
illustration  of  the  fadl  that  there  are  some  women  in 
the  world  who  can  keep  a  secret.  They  even  made  up 
their  minds  that  they  would  not  say  anything  to  Odta- 
via,  unless  she  would  have  sufficient  interest  in  Felix 
to  ask  them,  now  that  she  was  well,  what  they  had 
learned  concerning  him.  Octavia  on  the  other  hand, 
thought  that  because  they  said  nothing  further,  they 
had  not  learned  anything.  Now  that  Felix  was  gone 
and  had  a  more  honorable  position  she  wished  that 
he  might  be  her  brother. 

When  Octavia  was  told  that  Sharp  was  in  the  parlor 
and  wished  to  see  her,  she  arose  quickly  and  walked 
to  the  glass  to  smooth  her  hair  and  see  that  she  looked 
as  prepossessing  as  possible.  This  time  as  she  looked 
into  the  glass  she  saw  the  grey  hair  that  gave  her 
large  forehead  the  whiteness  and  smoothness  of  mar 
ble.  Then  she  recalled  that  she  was  no  longer  what 
she  had  been  when  she  last  saw  Mr.  Sharp  her 
"  agent,"  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  him 
during  her  illness  and  since.  How  would  he  take  the 


IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  DIVES.  259 

change  which  her  illness  had  wrought?  But  then 
what  did  she  care,  how  he  took  the  change  ?  What 
was  he  to  her  beside  her  agent  ?  Then  she  recalled 
the  dream  which  she  had  had,  when  she  first  became  ill, 
and  which  she  had  repeated  that  very  evening.  How 
vividly  it  all  came  back  to  her  now.  Was  she  re- 
dreaming  the  same  old  dream  now  that  she  was  awake? 
She  had  about  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  not 
go  down  that  evening.  She  was  beginning  to 
feel  so  nervous.  If  she  would  go  down  now, 
Mr.  Sharp  would  consider  her  an  old,  broken- 
down  woman.  But  what  matter,  she  again 
asked  herself,  what  Mr.  Sharp  thought  of  her  ?  She 
had  taken  a  seat  by  the  glass,  in  front  of  which  she 
had  stood  a  moment  before,  and  again  she  asked  her 
self  the  question  which  she  had  asked  her  Heavenly 
Father,  when  she  first  saw  herself  dressed  in  the  hos 
pital,  for  her  first  walk  into  the  bright  winter  sun 
shine,  reflected  to  her  from  ten  thousand  crystals  of 
snow.  Why  had  she  not  died  ?  We  may  ask  this 
question  with  her  by  and  by.  Let  us  remember  that 
He  who  holds  our  lives  in  the  hollow  of  his  hands  can 
not  err.  He  knows  when  it  is  best  to  enter  that 
1 '  Undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn  no  traveler 
returns. ' ' 

Odlavia  did  not  know  how  long  she  sat  before  Jennie 
Dives  again  rapped.  When  she  received  permission  to 
come  in  she  said  innocently,  sweetly,  as  her  vigorous 
young  life  before  which  the  world  seemed  an  Eden 
taught  her  to  say  "Sister,  that  old  man  down  there 


260  FEUX  AND  SHARP 

is  dying  to  see  you."  Then  she  looked  at  Odlavia  and 
saw  that  the  tears  were  running  down  her  pale  cheeks. 
She  ran  up  to  her  and  putting  her  arms  around  the 
waist  of  the  nurse  she  knelt  beside  the  low  stool  upon 
which  Odlavia  sat  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 
Odlavia  said,  "  Pardon  me,  angel,  I  was  dreaming." 
Jennie  thought  that  she  meant  that  she  had  had  a  day 
dream  of  herself  before  her  sickness,  and  in  her  warm, 
big  heart  she  pitied  her.  Odlavia  meant  what  she 
said.  Her  dream,  more  than  her  altered  appearance, 
had  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  It  was  only  when 
Susie  came  and  asked  whether  they  had  both  gone  to 
sleep  and  whether  they  were  living  in  ' '  The  Haunted 
Castle  ' '  that  nobody  returned  that  went  into  the 
room  upstairs?  that  the  ladies  realized  that  their  delay 
was  becoming  inexcusable  to  those  who  were  waiting 
for  them.  The  three  went  down  stairs  together. 

When  Odlavia  entered  between  the  two  girls,  Sharp 
looked  at  Odlavia  and  at  once  his  expression  changed 
from  the  pleasant  air  he  had  worn  to  the  snaky,  vil 
lainous  look  to  which  we  have  so  often  alluded.  He 
stole  a  sharp  glance  at  Susie  Dives  as  much  as  to  say, 
' '  You  are  certainly  fooling  me.  This  is  not  Odlavia 
Newman,  M.  D."  Then  he  fixed  the  inquisitive  stare 
upon  the  poor  nurse  until  she  began  to  tremble.  In  a 
moment  Sharp  recolledled  himself.  He  realized  that 
the  girls  recognized  his  doubt,  his  embarrassment. 
He  realized,  too,  that  Odlavia  stood  before  him,  so  he 
arose  and  greeted  her  warmly.  He  said :  ' '  The 
girls  told  me  what  a  siege  you  have  had.  I  am  glad 


HOME;  OF  THE  DIVES.  261 

you  are  so  well  again."    Sharp  was  glad  she  was  well, 
but   for   his   and  not  the  girl's  sake. 

Felix  said  he  must  go;  but  the  Dives  insisted  that 
it  was  still  early.  Octavia  took  the  hint.  She  said  to 
the  company:  "  Because  Mr.  Sharp  has  come  to  see 
me  on  a  little  business,  I  will  invite  him  to  the  dining 
room  and  not  break  up  your  pleasant  society. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

OCTAVIA  IS   RICH  AT   LAST. 

' '  When  fortune  means  to  men  most  good, 
She  looks  upon  them  with  a  threatening  eye." 

— Shakespeare, 

As  soon  as  Sharp  and  Odlavia  entered  the  dining- 
room  he  at  once  became  interested  in  the  silver- ware 
on  the  chiffonier.  The  Dives  had  solid  table  cutlery. 
Tea  and  coffee  services  were  also  solid.  There  was  in 
the  collection  a  crystal  cake-basket  which  had  once  be 
longed  to  the  Medici,  so  it  had  been  told  them  by 
their  mother  who  was  of  Italian  stock  and  related  to 
that  once  famous  Italian  house.  Much  of  this  ware 
was  highly  prized.  It  had  come  down  to  the  girls 
from  former  generations.  When  Sharp  saw  this 
tempting  array  of  ware  he  went  to  the  chiffonier  and 
examined  everything  within  reach  of  his  covetous 
eyes.  He  told  Octavia  that  he  had  a  love  for  the 
beautiful  which,  owing  to  the  unhappy  turn  his 
domestic  relations  had  taken,  he  was  unable  to  gratify. 
By  and  by  he  hoped  to  have  a  home  in  which  peace 
and  plenty  should  rule,  then  he  would  indulge  his  love 
for  art  and  costly  wares.  He  loved  to  look  at  the 
beautiful  whenever  and  wherever  he  had  an  oppor 
tunity.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  notes,  so  that 
he  would  have  many  suggestions  for  the  furnishing  of 
262 


OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  LAST.  263 

his  own  home  when  the  proper  time  came.  And  she, 
the  silly  woman,  believed  him. 

It  did  seem  strange  to  her  that  Sharp  was  so  long  in 
coming  to  the  point  in  regard  to  the  business.  She 
wished  to  approach  the  subject  a  number  of  times;  but 
he  had  kept  her  from  it.  In  some  inexplicable  way 
he  seemed  able  to  read  her  thoughts,  and  lead  them 
into  any  channel  he  wished.  As  the  conversation  con 
tinued,  the  old  and  strange  admiration  she  had  had  for 
the  man  before  her  illness  began  to  revive.  She  said 
within  herself,  ' '  This  man  is  interesting.  He  is  more 
to  me  than  I  allowed  myself  to  think  whilst  I  was  sep 
arated  from  him." 

Finally  he  walked  away  from  the  chiffonier,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  table.  Then,  after  he  had  drawn 
the  chair  nearest  him  as  close  as  he  wished  it,  he 
beckoned  Octavia  to  sit  beside  him.  Next  he  drew 
out  of  his  coat-pocket  a  bundle  of  large  envelopes. 
Taking  one  of  these  he  opened  it  with  a  self-satisfied 
air,  and  began  to  read  the  description  of  the  property 
outside  of  the  city  of  Omaha.  Octavia,  who  had  never 
had  occasion  to  read  a  deed,  recognized  that  what 
Sharp  was  reading  was  really  a  deed  to  the  property 
which  the  administrator  had  designated  as  a  valuable 
cattle-ranch.  As  Sharp  read,  Octavia  listened  in 
silence.  When  he  had  finished  this,  he  took  the  envel 
ope  next  in  order,  which  was  a  description  of  the  city 
property.  After  this,  he  read  an  itemized  account  of 
a  sale  of  cattle  which  had  taken  place  on  what  was  now 
Octavia's  cattle  ranch.  It  had  amounted  to  five  hun- 


264  OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  LAST. 

dred  dollars.  After  reading  this  he  drew  out  his  purse 
and  laid  on  the  table  a  draft  payable  to  Eliza  Nieman. 
The  draft  was  good  for  three  hundred  dollars.  Next 
he  read  an  itemized  account  of  the  expenses  incurred 
by  the  administrator  in  legally  transferring  the  prop 
erty  into  Eliza  Nieman 's  name.  The  administrator 
had  been  well  paid  for  his  trouble,  but  he  had  not  by 
any  means  robbed  Octavia. 

Next  Sharp  drew  out  the  last  paper  from  the  bundle 
which  he  had  laid  on  the  table.  It  contained  a  lease, 
which  gave  to  a  certain  Augustus  Bear  the  right  to 
farm  in  such  a  way  as  he  should  see  fit  the  land  de 
scribed  in  the  first  deed.  Sharp  explained  that  he 
knew  that  that  was  the  very  best  that  Octavia  could 
do  with  the  cattle-ranch,  so  he  had  taken  time  by  the 
fore-lock  and  had  found  a  renter.  The  truth  of  the 
matter  was  that  the  lease  was  sent  by  the  administra 
tor  in  the  hope  that  his  son,  Augustus,  would  be  able 
to  make  terms  for  the  use  of  the  property  for  a  term 
of  years.  Sharp  had  thought  the  matter  over,  and 
knew  just  what  he  would  advise  the  girl  to  do  with 
the  property  both  in  and  out  of  the  town.  He  said 
that  he  expected  Odlavia  to  sign  both  copies  of  the 
lease,  and  then  he  would  return  the  one  to  Bear.  She 
would  also  be  compelled  to  make  an  affidavit  that  she 
had  received  the  deeds,  etc.,  from  her  agent,  William 
Sharp,  Esq.,  svhich  he  would  send  back  to  Omaha. 
After  he  was  through  reading  all  the  documents,  he 
handed  them  to  Octavia,  then  he  gathered  the  remain 
der  of  the  envelopes  which ,  he  said  to  Oclavia,  con- 


OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  I,AST.  265 

cerned  some  other  business;  but  which,  in  reality, 
were  envelopes  filled  with  news-paper,  cut  to  suit, 
and  to  make  an  impression  of  Sharp's  volume  of  busi 
ness  upon  the  unsophisticated  girl. 

Sharp  knew  that  this  lengthy  display  of  the  docu 
ments  which  concerned  Odlavia's  inheritance,  would 
augment  her  agent's  business  tadl  in  her  estimation. 
So  it  had.  Gradually  the  prejudice  which  she  had 
conceived  against  her  agent,  wore  away.  She  confessed 
that  she  did  not  know  that  he  had  been  so  intensely 
busy,  and  that  for  her  sake,  as  these  papers  proved. 
And  then  there  was  that  big  packet,  which  no  doubt 
contained  matters  representing  thousands  of  dollars. 
Even  if  he  would  have  called  at  the  hospital,  he  would 
not  have  been  able  to  help  her,  and  she  could  certainly 
not  have  helped  him  in  the  work  which  he  had  done 
so  well  for  her.  As  she  thought  of  all  this,  she  felt 
that  he  must  literally  have  hovered  between  New 
York  and  Omaha  for  several  months.  What  would  he 
charge  her  for  all  this  valuable  service  ?  He  certainly 
had  had  more  care  than  Bear,  the  administrator,  and 
he  had  charged  her  two-hundred  dollars  for  his  work 
and  some  other  items  which  she  did  not  understand . 
She  thought  that  she  would  give  Sharp  the  draft  for 
the  three  hundred  dollars;  but  this  might  be  too  little. 
At  last,  when  Sharp  had  again  looked  over  his  pack 
age,  she  ventured  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  been 
compelled  to  do  much  hovering  between  the  two  cities 
mentioned.  He  replied  with  a  smile,  (he  always 
smiled  when  pleased,)  that  he  had  been  back  and  forth 


266  OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  I,AST. 

considerable;  but  that  it  had  profited  him  in  many 
ways. 

When  Octavia  asked  him  whether  the  draft  of 
three  hundred  dollars  would  be  sufficient  remunera 
tion  for  his  service,  he  raised  himself  in  his  chair,  and 
said  he  could  only  take  one  remuneration  from  her. 
When  she  asked  him,  with  eyes  cast  on  the  table  be 
fore  her,  half  in  dread  and  half  in  pleasant  anticipa 
tion  of  what  he  would  say  to  her,  he  replied  he 
wished  her  to  repay  him  by  always  being  willing  to 
come  to  his  assistance  whenever  and  in  whatever  way 
he  might  wish  her  so  to  do.  When  she  said  in  reply, 
that  she  did  not  see  how  she,  a  woman,  could  be  much 
help  to  a  man,  a  lawyer  like  himself,  Sharp  felt  that  he 
had  not  said  just  what  he  meant.  The  experiences  of 
of  the  past  few  weeks  had  in  some  way  stripped  him 
of  the  self-assurance  which  he  had  had  when  he  was 
not  quite  as  bad  as  now.  It  was  not  that  his  con 
science  was  making  a  coward  of  him,  for  conscience 
was  a  faculty  of  his  soul  that  he  tried  to  stunt  and 
stifle.  There  was  a  feeling  which  all  cowards  have, 
that  something  dreadful  would  sooner  or  later  come  to 
his  life.  This  was  the  reason  that  Sharp  had  not  told 
Octavia  just  what  he  meant  nor  in  the  way  he  meant 
it.  He  did  wish  her  money,  and  he  did  wish  any 
influence  she  might  have  in  helping  him  in  his  bad 
life.  Sharp  did  wish  to  use  the  woman  before  him 
whenever  and  in  whatever  way  he  pleased. 

Odlavia  knew  that  what  he  had  said  to  her  did  not 
express  or  even  hint  at  the  old  admiration  which  he 


OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  I.AST.  267 

had  had  for  her,  or  at  least  had  said  he  had  for  her. 
She  knew  that  she  was  changed  in  appearance  since 
they  had  last  met.  She  felt  that  she  had  grown  at 
least  five  years  older  in  the  few  weeks  she  had  spent 
in  suffering  at  the  hospital.  For  Sharp's  sake,  more 
than  her  own,  (at  least  so  she  tried  to  persuade  her 
self,)  she  wished  that  she  had  not  changed  so  much 
for  the  worse.  She  did  not,  for  the  time  being,  think 
that  a  true  man  would  have  pitied  her  misfortune,  that 
a  man  capable  of  sincere  affection  would  have  been 
drawn  closer  to  her  because  of  her  misfortune  and 
need  of  sympathy.  Because  of  all  this,  she  sighed 
and  said,  "  I  am  sadly  changed  since  last  we  met. 
The  strength  I  lost  in  that  awful  illness  will  never 
fully  return  to  me.  Yes,  I  am  changed,  changed 
for  the  worse."  She  burst  into  tears,  and  turned  her 
head  in  a  vain  attempt  to  hide  her  feelings  from  the 
man  who  sat  before  her.  When  she  turned,  Sharp 
smiled  a  mocking  smile,  instead  of  shedding  a  tear  of 
sympathy  with  the  girl  in  her  deep  affliction.  But 
those  tears  had  their  effect  upon  him.  He  felt  that 
he  must  say  something  which  would  cause  Octavia  to 
think  that  whatever  admiration  he  had  had  for  her 
face  and  form  before  her  illness,  was  not  destroyed 
by  the  fact  that  she  was  not  now  as  handsome  as  he 
had  tried  to  make  her  believe  he  thought  her  then  to 
be.  He  said :  ' '  You  have  changed  some,  but  you 
will  recover  all  you  lost.  Your  illness  will,  by  and  by, 
prove  a  benefit  to  you  even  in  your  personal  appear 
ance.  I  never  admired  a  woman  for  the  beauty  that 


268  OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  I,AST. 

is  only  skin-deep.  Your  heart  has  not  changed  toward 
me  because  of  your  illness.  I  am  sure  that  mine  has 
not  toward  you.  I  never  asked  you  if  you  loved  me. 
Our  acquaintance  has  been  comparatively  short,  and  I 
was  still  the  husband  of  another  woman  when  we  last 
met."  (He  even  then,  so  far  as  he  knew,  was  the 
husband  of  another  woman;  but  to  Octavia  he  tried  to 
imply  that  such  was  no  longer  the  case.)  "  I  thought 
I  would  let  you  learn  my  worth,  and  prove  to  you  that 
I  could  still  love  a  true  woman  before  I  would  intimate 
to  you  that — "  He  left  his  sentence  unfinished. 
Octavia,  who  had  been  averting  her  eyes,  partly  be 
cause  she  wished  to  appear  modest  and  coy,  and  partly 
because  she  really  still  was  physically  weak,  and  could 
not  have  studied  Sharp's  face  during  the  time  he  was 
delivering  himself  of  his  sentimental  lies  which,  to  any 
one  studying  his  face  just  then,  would  have  been  re 
minded  of  the  slime  with  which  the  serpent  covers  his 
victim  previous  to  deglutition,  raised  her  eyes  and 
beheld  the  old,  snaky  look  in  his  face  that  we  have  so 
often  spoken  of.  It  was  then  that  she,  for  the  first 
time  during  all  the  evening,  thought  of  her  dream. 
It  came  back  to  her  upon  the  wings  of  thought,  sug 
gested  by  the  look  in  Sharp's  face,  in  terrible  distinct 
ness.  She  simply  looked  at  him  without  saying  a 
word,  and  he,  mistaking  the  look  for  the  cool,  calcu 
lating  stare,  in  which  he  himself  used  to  indulge  be 
fore  he  was  as  wicked  as  now,  cowered  before  her. 
She  mistook  his  uneasiness  for  inborn  modesty,  of 
which  Sharp  had  not  a  single  grain,  and  thought  to 


OCTAVIA  IS  RICH  AT  I,AST.  269 

relieve  him  by  saying  something,  just  what  she 
scarcely  knew.  She  did  finally  manage  to  say,  ' '  We 
can  speak  of  this  again.  The  hour  is  late."  Then 
Sharp  made  a  polite  bow  and  stepped  out  into 
the  night  by  the  dining  room  door,  which,  in  the  pre 
occupied  state  of  his  mind,  he  thought  led  into  the 
hall  where  were  his  coat  and  hat.  The  cold,  raw 
atmosphere  soon  convinced  him  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  His  absent-mindedness  made  Octavia  laugh 
until  the  tears  again  rolled  over  her  face.  Sharp  was 
glad  he  had  made  the  mistake.  It  relieved  him  of 
the  awkwardness  of  the  situation,  into  which  the 
later  conversation  of  the  evening  had  led  him. 

When  Sharp  was  gone  Octavia  retired  to  her  room, 
and  without  again  looking  at  the  papers,  threw  them 
into  her  trunk.  She  immediately  retired;  but  it  was 
a  long  time  before  she  could  sleep.  She  reviewed  the 
conversation  of  the  evening  in  all  its  details.  She 
asked  herself  again  and  again  whether  Sharp  had 
really  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  did  not  feel  sure 
that  he  had,  so  she  would  not  try  to  decide  what  an 
swer  she  would  give  him.  She  felt  that  that  question 
would  come  to  her  from  the  "  smart  lawyer,"  as  she 
loved  to  call  him  in  her  own  mind;  but  until  it  did 
come  she  would  not  answer  it.  She  felt  that  Sharp 
had  some  influence  over  her.  She  did  not  know 
whether  it  was  really  love  that  caused  her  to  think  kindly 
of  Sharp,  or  what  it  was;  but  she  did  acknowledge 
that  he  was  more  to  her  than  any  man  she  had  ever 
met  before. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OCTAVIA  IS    ENGAGED. 

"  It  is  not  money,  but  the  love  of  money,  which  is  the  root 
of  all  evil.  It  is  the  relation  between  wealth  and  the  mind, 
and  the  character  of  its  possessor  which  is  the  essential  thing. ' ' 

—Hillard. 

When  Sharp  got  to  his  lodgings  the  night  he  had 
brought  the  deeds  to  Odlavia  he  felt  that  that  woman 
had  not  gone  beyond  his  power.  She  still  remained 
to  him  the  means  for  retrieving  his  lost  fortunes.  He 
felt  glad  that  she  had  come  into  his  life  at  a  time  he 
most  needed  her.  It  was  Odtavia's  money  Sharp  was 
after.  He  cared  very  little  for  her  personally,  even  be 
fore  her  sickness;  now  that  she  had  changed  into  a  reg 
ular  old  woman,  thin  and  weazen-faced,  with  her  thin, 
gray  curls  clinging  to  her  scalp,  like  "  the  wool  on  the 
head  of  an  old  nigger,"  as  he  said  aloud  to  himself  in 
his  room,  when  he  that  night  thought  on  the  plans 
which  he  would  adopt  to  get  Odtavia's  wealth,  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  get 
her  money  without  taking  her  also.  He  admitted  that 
it  might  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  inconvenience  to  be 
encumbered  with  the  woman;  but  he  was  willing  to 
do  that  in  order  that  he  might  again  hold  up  his  head 
as  he  once  did.  He  would  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 
270 


OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED.  271 

There  was  no  other  way.  Perhaps  a  kind  fate  would 
deliver  him  of  her  soon.  He  would  trust  to  luck;  but 
the  money  he  must  have  at  all  hazards.  That  part  of 
the  transaction  was  therefore  settled  in  Sharp's  mind. 
The  poor  man  forgot  that  even  wealth  is  to  some  peo 
ple  what  ingots  are  to  an  ass'  back,  the  means  of  gall 
ing  and  wearying  it.  Upon  the  sea  on  whose  mighty 
billows  Sharp  had  cast  himself,  gold  would  drag  him 
to  destruction  so  much  the  sooner.  Wealth  seldom 
gives  happiness;  to  men  of  Sharp's  kind,  it  never  does. 
Like  poison  to  the  suicide,  it  may  seem  before  it  is 
taken,  the  panacea  to  all  ills;  but  it  soon  reveals  the 
fraud. 

But  suppose  Octavia  should  not  accept  his  hand  in 
marriage?  Pshaw,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about 
that.  Had  she  not  said:  "We  can  speak  of  this 
again.  The  hour  is  late."  "But,  Sharp,"  said  he 
to  himself,  ' '  you  must  not  bungle  as  you  did  to-night, 
or  the  bird  may  escape  you  in  the  end.  I  will  say 
to  her  that  my  life  is  being  wasted  on  the  desert  air 
without  her  companionship.  I  can  no  longer  live 
without  her,  and  that  is  exactly  true,"  he  added. 
Slapping  his  hands  behind  his  back  in  glee,  he  got 
into  his  bed  and  was  soon  snoring  like  a  funnel. 

One  week  after  that,  Sharp  stood  on  the  front  door 
step  ot  the  Dives'  home  just  as  the  clock  in  the  Trin 
ity  steeple  struck  eight.  He  had  on  his  best  clothing; 
but  they  were  nothing  to  brag  of.  The  truth  of  the 
matter  was,  that  the  one  hundred  dollars  which  he  had 
thought  to  use  in  part  for  the  replenishing  of  his  ward- 


272  OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED. 

robe,  were  in  a  good  many  different  hands  in  a  very 
few  evenings  after  they  had  been  filched  out  of  his 
vest  pocket  as  he  stood  with  uplifted  hands  on  the 
corner  of  Bleeker  and  Christopher  streets.  He  remem 
bered  that  night  with  all  the  horrid  details  of  the  differ 
ent  scenes  upon  which  he  had  looked.  In  fact,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  steady  his  nerves  since  that 
night,  and  like  Octavia's  illness,  it  had  left  its  mark 
upon  him.  The  hard  lines  about  his  mouth  were 
deepened,  and  what  was  strangest,  his  hair  had  turned 
to  a  shade  of  gray,  which  resembled  an  icicle,  frozen 
out  of  dirty  water.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  horror 
which  had  frozen  his  soul  into  insensibility  also  had 
whitened  his  hair.  It  was  even  so.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
cruel  irony,  because  of  his  lack  of  sympathy  for  poor 
Octavia.  How  would  he  account  for  the  change  in 
the  color  of  his  hair  to  Octavia  ?  He  would  say  that 
two  lives  which  were  intended  to  flow  on  together 
would  take  on  a  similarity  which  was  often  as  striking 
as  it  was  difficult  to  be  accounted  for;  but  Octavia  was 
a  nurse,  a  physician,  as  he  thought,  and  would  scarcely 
be  satisfied  with  such  an  answer. 

Octavia  came  to  the  door.  She  extended  her  hand 
in  cordial  greeting.  They  entered  the  parlor.  She 
said  the  Dives  and  Felix  were  out  spending  the  even 
ing  together,  and  they  would  consequently  be  undis 
turbed. 

"Felix  and  the  Dives?"  Sharp  fairly  screamed  in 
his  surprise. 


OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED.  273 

"Yes,  Felix  and  the  Dives,"  Odlavia  added. 
1 '  Felix  is  no  longer  a  coachman.  He  is  head  book 
keeper  in  Abraham's  wholesale  establishment,  for 
more  than  two  months  already."  Then  she  told  Mr. 
Sharp  of  the  good  fortune  that  had  come  to  Felix  by 
the  merest  accident.  Sharp  listened  with  open- 
mouthed  wonder,  then  said  with  an  air  of  intense  dis 
gust,  that  "  fortune,  like  love,  sometimes  smiled  on  a 
jackass."  But  that  is  just  what  fortune  had  not  done 
this  time.  We  have  already  seen  that  Felix's  fortune 
would  have  plunged  him  into  a  whole  sea  of  trouble  if 
he  had  not  had  the  moral  and  mental  qualifications  to 
adapt  himself  to  the  fortunate  circumstances  which  had 
come  upon  him. 

After  he  had  finished  his  tirade  against  the 
blindness  of  luck  and  the  assurance  some  people  pos 
sess,  he  put  on  a  different  look  entirely.  He  said: 
' '  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  one  week  ago  to 
night  ?  ' '  As  he  said  this  he  left  the  chair  upon  which 
he  had  been  sitting  and  seated  himself  upon  the  sofa 
beside  Octavia.  He  took  the  hand  of  the  woman  in 
his,  and  repeated,  "  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

' '  Remember  what  ?  ' '  said  Octavia,  her  voice  trem 
bling  with  suppressed  emotion. 

"You  said,"  replied  Sharp,  "just  as  I  was  going 
out,  'we  can  speak  of  this  again.'  Now  I  wish  to 
speak  of  this  again.  I  will  tell  you  that  I  love  you. 
I  have  loved  you  ever  since  I  first  became  thor 
oughly  acquainted  with  you,  on  the  mountain  side 
during  our  pleasant  outing  last  summer.  In  fact  it 


274  OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED. 

seems  to  me  that  I  never  saw  a  woman  whom  nature 
and  education  had  so  well  fitted  for  me,  for  any  man, 
in  fact,  that  can  appreciate  a  true  woman,  like  you, 
Octavia.  I  was  disappointed  in  my  first  love.  I  mis 
took  passion  for  love,  as  giddy  youth  so  often  does. 
It  is  different  now.  My  heart  seeks  companionship, 
seeks  a  haven  from  the  vexations  and  disappointments 
which  come  to  all  of  us  in  life.  Will  you,  dear  girl, 
be  mine  until  death  do  us  part  ?  ' '  He  bent  down  and 
kissed  the  woman's  forehead,  and  she  did  not  resist. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  floor.  Her  hand  was 
moist  and  twitched  nervously  in  his.  Sharp  noticed 
this,  and  a  smile  of  triumphant  satisfaction  overspread 
his  cunning  face,  and  the  old  snaky  look  was  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  added,  "  And  must  silence  be  the  only  an 
swer  you  will  give  me  ?  ' ' 

Octavia' s  lips  quivered,  and  as  they  quivered, 
parted;  but  the  answer  which  she  had  tried  to  frame 
died  upon  them.  Again  the  man  broke  the  silence. 
"  Octavia,  dear,  tell  me  that  I  have  not  sought  your 
heart  in  vain."  Any  man  with  a  refined  nature  would 
have  pitied  the  girl  as  she  sat  there  beside  the  coarse, 
brutal  hypocrite,  who,  like  the  serpent  that  gloated 
over  the  mother  of  us  all  as  she  took  the  forbidden 
fruit,  felt  that  his  victory  was  complete,  and  with  the 
feeling  of  victory  coupled  that  of  exultation  at  his  easy 
conquest. 

Finally  Octavia  found  her  voice.  "  Mr.  Sharp, 
this  is  all  so  soon,  so  hurried.  We  have  not  met  a 
dozen  times  in  our  lives.  I  need  time  for  considera- 


OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED.  275 

tion.  Leave  me  to  think  over  this,  the  most  solemn 
step  we  can  take  in  all  our  lives." 

Sharp  urged  that  she  did  know  him.  Had  he  not 
always  been  square  in  his  dealings,  and  had  he  not 
shown  his  efficiency  in  the  management  of  her  affairs  ? 
He  was  no  longer  at  that  period  in  his  life  when  he 
did  things  without  thinking.  He  loved  her.  Why 
should  she  keep  him  in  suspense  ?  Had  Sharp  known 
it,  his  chances  for  a  favorable  answer  were  just  then 
waning.  The  dream  came  to  her  in  all  its  vividness. 
In  facl  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  angel  of  her  destiny 
had  unrolled  before  her  a  scroll  upon  which  he  had 
distinctly  drawn  in  vivid  outline  all  the  terrible  fea 
tures  of  the  vision  that  had  again  repeated  itself  the 
night  preceding,  with  this  change,  or  addition  rather, 
that  the  serpent  last  night  buried  his  fangs  deeply,, 
first  into  her  heart,  and  then  as  if  not  satisfied  with 
the  result,  had  also  infused  his  poison  into  her  brain 
by  a  second  stroke. 

After  she  had  said  what  she  did",  about  the  reasons, 
for  considering  the  proposed  alliance,  she  lifted  her 
eyes,  and  read  the  snaky,  cunning  look  of  which  her 
dream  had  been  a  premonition.  She  felt  a  little  shud 
der  come  over  her,  and  gently  withdrew  her  hand. 
Within  himself  Sharp  swore  a  short,  quick  little 
oath,  and  then,  with  the  devil  in  his  soul  and  a  des 
perate  effort  to  assume  the  appearance  of  an  angel  of 
light  he  again  sought  her  hand.  Taking  it  once  more, 
he  said:  "  Odlavia,  can  you  crush  a  man's  heart  be 
neath  the  wheels  of  procrastination  ?  Can  you  spurn 


276  OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED. 

my  offers  of  love  ?  I  will  do  my  best  to  give  you  a 
happy  home.  I  know  that  we  will  live  like  two 
angels.  I  do  not  need  your  wealth.  Use  your  money 
as  you  see  fit.  I  must  have  your  heart." 

Octavia  again  thought  of  the  dream.  Would  she 
allow  a  dream  to  ruin  her  prospects  in  life?  She 
dreamt  because  she  was  nervous. 

Again  Sharp  began  in  language  more  plaintive  than 
before  to  sue  for  the  woman's  heart.  The  smile  of 
triumph  had  faded  from  his  lips,  but  the  old  look  con 
tinued  in  his  eye.  Octavia  noticed  his  earnestness, 
and  with  an  effort  that  was  perceived  by  Sharp,  she 
said:  "  Mr.  Sharp,  I  will  be  your  wife,  if  you  will 
prove  yourself  worthy  of  a  woman's  love.  You  know 
you  are  divorced,  and  I  have  known  you  only  a  short 
time." 

Sharp  embraced  the  woman  at  his  side  and  gave 
her  a  kiss.  It  was  the  first  token  of  affection  shown 
her  .on  the  part  of  a  man  for  years,  and  the  kiss, 
though  it  was  a  kiss  such  as  Judas  gave  his  Master, 
fell  (like  a  welcome  shower  upon  dry  and  thirsty 
ground)  with  refreshing  upon  her  lips. 

Then  they  discussed  the  best  time  for  their  marriage. 
It  was  February  now.  They  finally  decided  that  until 
Christmas  would  give  them  ample  time  to  perfect  their 
arrangements.  He  said,  that  being  he  was  not  a 
church-man,  as  he  was  inclined  to  term  his  lack  of 
religious  conviction,  his  downright  devilish  way  of 
living,  he  would  prefer  to  be  married  by  a  judge  or 
alderman.  He  did  this  as  much  to  find  out  what 


OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED.  277 

really  were  Odtavia's  religious  convi<5lions  as  anything. 
She  told  him  that  she  was  not  a  very  faithful  church 
member,  but  she  had  a  religious  mother  and  would 
prefer  to  be  married  by  a  minister  of  the  gospel. 
There  was  time  to  arrange  that  they  both  agreed. 
There  were  many  little  plans  that  Odlavia  had  made 
years  ago,  with  regard  to  her  marriage,  should  she 
ever  have  the  pleasure  of  being  led  to  the  marriage- 
altar.  Some  of  these  came  back  to  her  now  like  the 
memory  of  sweet  dreams,  and  she  told  them  to  Sharp. 
He  seemed  bent  on  pleasing  her,  and  gave  a  ready 
approval  of  them  all.  The  girl  was  happy.  Even  the 
roses  which  had  faded  from  her  cheeks  came  back  to 
her  as  she  and  Sharp  discussed  the  plans.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  when  Felix  brought  the  Dives  to  the 
house.  Sharp  realized  that  it  was  time  to  go.  As 
soon  as  the  girls  had  said  their  good-night  in  their 
bright,  cheery  voices  to  their  escort,  Sharp  again 
kissed  the  woman,  who  that  evening  had  given  her 
self  "  soul  and  body  to  him."  Then  he  went  to  his 
rooms.  He  was  pleased.  He  said,  "  I  had  to  buy  the 
old  hulk  in  order  to  get  at  the  cargo.  I  think  the 
whole  transaction  will  pay." 

Ten  minutes  after  Sharp  had  left,  Odlavia  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  Dives'  bed-room,  and  when  she  was 
admitted,  she  said,  "  Girls,  I  am  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried."  . 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other,  then  at  Odlavia, 
when  Susie  said,  "  To  Mr.  Sharp  ?  " 

"  Even  to  him,"  was  Odlavia 's  reply. 


^78  OCTAVIA  IS  ENGAGED. 

Then  the  Dives  pitied  her  from  the  depths  of  their 
souls.  They  said  nothing  to  Odlavia,  for  fear  of  hurt 
ing  her  feelings,  but  they  were  very  sorry  for  her. 
-Sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  girls'  bed.  she  told  them  all 
about  the  good  fortune  that  had  come  to  her,  and 
when  she  had  finished  they  pitied  her  still  more.  Of 
course  they  kissed  her,  kissed  her  even  with  tender 
ness,  such  as  a  mother  would  bestow  upon  her  inno 
cent  child  which  has  fallen  and  broken  its  back;  be 
cause  the  mother  would  know  what  the  child  did  not, 
namely,  that  the  little  one  would  be  helpless  and  hope 
less  the  rest  of  its  sad  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ON  THE  WING. 

"  To  him  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language." — Bryant. 

Just  one  week  after  the  conversation  in  the  parlor, 
Dr.  Burns  left  Colorado  Springs  for  a  three  weeks 
trip  in  New  Mexico  and  Southern  California.  Susie 
and  Jennie  Dives  who  the  day  before  had  come  to  Col 
orado  to  spend  the  summer,  had  easily  persuaded  Mr. 
Dives  to  allow  them  to  go  to  the  Golden  State.  It  had 
been  a  busy  week  with  the  girls,  and  everybody  was 
happy.  A  few  hours  after  Dr.  Burns  left  Colorado 
Springs  he  was  met  at  the  little  station  by  the  other 
three  of  the  party. 

As  they  intended  to  visit  Acoma  and  other  points  of 
interest,  they  took  the  Santa  Fe  route.  We  will  not 
dwell  upon  the  points  of  interest  they  visited  in  and 
around  Santa  Fe  where  they  spent  several  days,  be 
cause  Mr.  Dives'  business  required  it.  We  have 
already  spoken  of  the  visit  to  the  Pueblos,  so  we 
will  not  weary  the  reader  by  dwelling  upon  old  scenes. 

Our  party  stopped  at  Flagstaff,  and  there  took  the 
stage  which  now  runs  three  times  a  week  to  the 
Canons  of  the  Colorado.  The  journey  to  the  Grand 
Canon  is  in  itself  of  sufficient  interest  to  repay  the 

279 


280  ON  THE  WING. 

tourist  for  his  time  and  money.  For  many  miles  the 
road  passes  through  primeval  parks  of  pine,  perfectly 
free  from  undergrowth ,  and  carpeted  for  the  most  part 
with  nature's  most  lovely  green.  Then  there  are 
open  stretches  of  road  from  which  the  traveler  sees  the 
great  San  Francisco  peaks  like  giant  sentinels  follow 
ing  his  path.  Then  he  goes  over  broad  ranges 
where  cattle  pasture  and  where  the  white  tent  of  the 
herders  gleams  in  the  sunshine  like  a  huge  white 
feathered  bird.  When  at  last  our  travelers  quit  the 
stage  there  is  nothing  to  assure  them  except  the  re 
ports  of  previous  visitors  that,  they  are  not  to  be  dis 
appointed.  A  small  crag  which  scarcely  reaches  to 
the  northern  slope  of  the  glen  is  the  only  object  which 
hints  at  the  presence  of  anything  beside  the  peaceful 
woodland,  where  the  flowers  bloom  and  the  birds 
twitter  among  the  branches  of  the  pines.  The  visitor 
at  the  direction  of  his  guide  strides  quickly  forward  to 
see  whether  he  has  not  been  disappointed  by  giving 
too  much  credence  to  the  reports  of  others.  He  halts 
suddenly,  and  with  feelings  indescribable  he  gazes  at 
the  great  chasm  which  has  opened  at  his  feet  and 
which  stretches  away  to  the  far  horizon.  When  he 
becomes  master  of  his  own  thoughts  again,  he  realizes 
that  words  cannot  exaggerate  the  sublime  spectacle  that 
stretches  before  him.  It  is  at  once  intensely  real  and 
superhumanly  weird  and  spectral.  It  is  as  if  the 
creative  energy  that  brought  order  out  of  chaos  every 
where  else,  had  been  exhausted  by  the  effort,  and  had 
paused  here  to  take  the  much  needed  rest  before  com- 


ON  THE  WING.  281 

pleting  the  gigantic  task.  It  has  been  well  said  that 
the  ' '  labyrinth  of  architectural  forms  of  every  known 
order  and  design  are  here."  It  flashes  instant  commu 
nications  of  all  that  architecture  and  painting  and 
music  for  a  thousand  years  have  gropingly  striven  to 
express.  Our  friends  tarried  here  a  day  and  then 
went  on  their  journey.  At  the  usual  time,  that  is 
about  thirty-six  hours  after  they  left  Flagstaff,  they  ar 
rived  in  the  city  of  L,os  Angeles.  The  girls  went  to 
the  cousin  who  had  married  since  Jennie  and  Susie  had 
been  to  see  her  the  year  before  and  lived  in  a  neat 
home  on  Washington  street.  The  girls  as  a  matter  of 
course  made  the  most  of  their  short  visit.  There  were 
several  trips  that  they  must  take  with  Carrie.  One 
must  be  to  the  mountains;  another  must  be  a  sail  on 
the  Pacific. 

The  trip  to  the  mountains  was  the  one  they  first  ar 
ranged  for.  In  the  Sierras  not  far  from  the  ' '  City  of 
the  Angels, ' '  there  are  many  pleasant  canons.  These 
are  frequented  by  visitors  especially  during  the  sum 
mer  months.  It  was  to  one  of  these,  which  the  Los 
Angeles  cousin  had  visited  before,  and  which  she  in 
consequence  well  knew,  that  she  planned  to  take  her 
friends.  The  party  was  to  consist  of  herself  and  the 
visitors.  Her  own  husband  was  away,  being  a  com 
mercial  traveler.  It  was  doubtful  whether  he  would 
return  in  time  to  meet  the  Dives.  They  were  to  re 
turn  the  same  evening.  At  the  last  moment  the  Los 
Angeles  cousin  became  ill.  The  doctor  advised  her  to 
stay  at  home,  much  to  her  own  and  the  entire  party's 


282  ON  THE  WING.    ' 

regret.  The  driver  who  took  them  out  in  a  carriage, 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  road  and  the  canon,  the 
lyOS  Angeles  cousin  urged,  and  they  would  get  along 
quite  as  well  without  her  as  if  she  went  along.  Inas 
much  as  the  time  was  short  and  the  trip  could  not  be 
put  off,  they  went  alone. 

After  a  drive  of  nearly  three  hours  during  the  last 
half  hour  of  which  they  threaded  along  a  narrow 
mountain  road  which  every  moment  became  rougher, 
the  driver  halted  and  told  them  that  he  would  go  no 
further.  He  would  unhitch  his  horses  and  they  might 
take  their  lunch  baskets  and  go  up  the  cafion,  where 
they  would  find  many  pleasant  places  to  spread  their 
lunch  and  have  a  good  time.  As  soon  as  he  had  un 
hitched  and  fed  his  horses  he  would  follow  them. 

The  two  lunch  baskets  were  accordingly  taken  out 
of  the  carriage,  and  the  two  men  took  the  lead  up  the 
road.  The  girls  chatted  pleasantly  together  behind 
them.  After  walking  more  than  half  a  mile  up  the 
canon,  during  which  the  little  stream  that  flowed  along 
the  road  became  wider,  they  finally  concluded  to 
spread  their  lunch  on  a  big,  flat  rock  beside  the  stream. 
The  cloth  was  accordingly  spread  and  the  luncheon 
tastily  arranged  upon  it.  Even  the  spreading  of  a 
lunch  in  the  woods  upon  the  ground  will  tell  the  ob 
servant  student  of  human  nature  something  of  the 
habits  and  character  of  those  who  spread  the  lunch. 
An  observer  on  this  occasion  might  have  been  im 
pressed  with  the  neatness  and  taste  with  which  the 
lunch  was  arranged  on  the  clean,  white  cloth. 


ON  THE  WING.  283 

The  book-keeper  had  made  a  fire  and  the  girls  were 
not  without  that  which  is  usually  so  acceptable  to  a 
woman,  both  at  home  and  when  she  is  where  water  is 
purest  and  freshest — the  indispensable  cup  of  coffee. 
When  all  was  ready  the  party  of  four  gathered  around 
the  repast  and  did  ample  justice  to  their  meal.  The 
driver  who  came  when  they  were  half  through ,  would 
have  fared  ill,  had  they  not  brought  enough  for  two 
meals.  Hunger  is  good  sauce.  It  gives  the  most  or 
dinary  viands  an  ambrosial  sweetness.  It  is  almost 
sure  to  come  to  him  who  delves  into  the  forest's  depth 
or  pierces  the  mountain's  glen. 

Whilst  the  driver  was  eating  his  luncheon  he  told 
our  little  party  of  a  pretty  water- fall  farther  up  the 
canon,  where  three  great  mountains  put  an  abrupt  term 
ination  to  the  little  water  course,  and  where  the  stream 
leaped  into  being  as  it  were,  over  a  giant  wall  of  rock 
Of  course  they  could  not  miss  this.  They  had  seen 
finest  evidences  that  nature  loved  to  show  the  sublime; 
but  it  would  not  do  to  go  home  and  say  that  they  had 
not  seen  this  water-fall. 

So  they  left  the  man  in  the  best  of  spirits.  He  said 
he  would  take  both  of  the  baskets  with  him  to  the 
wagon,  where  they  would  find  everything  safe  when 
they  returned.  Our  friends  delighted  themselves  in 
studying  the  different  formations  of  rock  which  the 
water,  during  the  past  centuries,  had  laid  bare. 
Sometimes  they  would  see  among  the  old  granite  for 
mations  a  rock  which  had  been  taken  out  of  its  place 
in  the  side  of  the  mountain  far  above  them  and  hurled 


284  ON  THE  WING. 

among  the  smoothly  worn  granite  as  if  it  had  come 
from  another  world.  By  and  by  they  heard  the 
splashing  of  the  water,  and  turning  a  bend  in  the 
canon  they  saw  it  leap  from  the  mouth  of  another 
canon  far  above  them.  The  moss-grown  sides  of  the 
rock  had  in  them  here  and  there  little  hollows,  which 
were  lined  over,  roof  and  side,  with  short,  thick,  green 
moss,  as  if  prepared  by  a  fairy  groom  for  his  fairy 
bride.  They  looked  at  the  pure  stream  of  water, 
shining  wherever  the  sun  struck  it  like  a  sheet  of 
liquid  silver,  shifting  its  myriad  rainbows  to  every 
side. 

It  was  Dr.  Burns  who  first  proposed  that  they  climb 
the  mountain  to  their  right,  which  seemed  to  have  a 
tolerably  well  defined  trail  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see.  It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  they 
could  be  back  in  ample  time  to  reach  the  city  before  it 
got  very  late.  Jennie  was  the  weakest  in  the  com 
pany.  She  hesitated.  She  said  she  had  had  some 
experience  in  climbing  mountains  in  California  only  a 
year  before.  Then  she  had  had  the  service  of  one 
good  donkey.  Whilst  it  seemed  to  her  that  they  were 
all  donkeys  in  this  crowd,  she  doubted  whether  there 
was  one  who  would  give  her  the  aid  she  had  received 
from  the  creature  which  had  borne  her  to  the  top  of  a 
mountain  near  this  one.  They  all  took  her  sally  at 
wit  goodnaturedly.  Dr.  Burns  said  it  did  not  depend 
on  the  size  of  a  donkey's  ears  as  to  how  loudly  he 
could  bray.  Jennie  was  an  illustration  of  that. 
Finally  they  all  agreed  that  it  did  not  look  at  all  far 


ON  THE  WING.  285 

up  to  the  top  of  that  mountain,  and  they  all  had  some 
curiosity  to  see  what  was  beyond  it.  They  retraced 
their  steps  down  the  canon  to  a  place  where  they  could 
cross  the  creek,  and  then  took  the  trail  toward  the 
top.  We  will  leave  them  in  their  ascent  and  go  back 
to  the  carriage. 

The  driver  was  having  a  very  nice  time  all  to  himself 
that  afternoon.  He  had  brought  a  seaside  library  with 
him,  and  was  wading  through  the  story  which  finally 
brought  its  hero  to  wed  a  hateful  shrew,  who  made 
his  life  miserable,  and  caused  him  to  take  poison  which 
ended  his  unhappy  career.  Shutting  his  book  he  said 
aloud  to  himself,  "  There,  that  ends  it.  Anybody 
could  have  known  that  that  woman  would  be  the  death 
of  any  man.  But  that  makes  me  think  of  my  party." 
He  then  helped  himself  to  what  he  wished  from  the 
baskets.  "  No  use  starving  when  there's  a  plenty 
right  around  you.  I  once  heard  of  a  man  dying  of 
thirst  when  he  was  tied  on  his  back  to  a  plank  and 
was  floating  on  the  water;  but  I  am  not  that  kind  of  a 
chicken."  Hereupon  he  pulled  out  his  old  watch 
and  shook  it.  It  had  stopped  with  the  little  hand 
pointing  to  four,  and  the  hour-hand  at  twelve.  He 
shook  it  again  and  the  hour  hand  went  to  six.  Whilst 
it  did  not  tell  him  the  time  of  day,  it  did  tell  him 
what  he  had  learned  many  days  before,  that  his  watch 
could  not  be  relied  upon.  He  said,  "The  sun  is  all 
right.  She  don't  go  bumbling  around  in  the  sky. 
She  will  set  at  the  right  time."  Then  shading  his 
hand,  and  looking  toward  the  big  luminary,  he  said, 


286  ON  THE  WING. 

"That  event  will  occur  in  just  about  two  hours,  or 
this  old  huckleberry  has  lost  his  bearings." 

The  old  gentleman  lit  his  pipe  and  smoked  content 
edly  for  about  half  an  hour,  then  he  arose,  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  looked  at  the  sun.  Nodding  his  head  he 
walked  towards  the  horses.  He  harnessed  them,  took 
them  to  the  creek  flowing  close  by,  and  watered  them. 
Then  he  hitched  them  to  the  carriage,  and  got  ready 
to  start.  He  looked  toward  the  sun,  then  up  the  trail, 
but  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  By  and  by  the  sun  set, 
but  his  party  did  not  come.  One  by  one  the  stars 
came  out  and  still  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  He 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  unhitched  his  horses, 
fastened  them  as  he  had  done  ten  hours  before,  and 
started  up  the  trail  to  see  whether  he  could  not  find 
his  party. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

LOST    IN   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

' '  A  faint,  cold  fear  thrills  through  thy  veins 
That  almost  freezes  up  the  heart  of  life." 

— Shakespeare. 

Our  friends  found  the  climbing  along  the  side  of  the 
mountain  not  near  as  easy  as  they  supposed  that  it 
would  be.  They  had  all  been  to  the  mountains  before 
and  had  ascended  their  rugged  sides,  but  always  along 
well  defined  trails,  and  with  donkeys,  not  such  as 
those  which  Jennie  had  described,  but  with  the  sure 
footed  long-eared  little  animal  that  can  walk  to  the 
top  of  a  house-roof  as  well  as  on  the  even  ground,  pro 
vided  it  is  permitted  to  have  its  own  way  about  it. 

The  trail  the  young  people  were  following  led  them 
along  the  side  of  the  hill,  then  it  turned  at  a  sharp 
angle  and  went  almost  straight  up  the  side  for  fifty  feet 
or  so,  when  it  again  ascended  a  little  more  gradually. 
After  they  had  made  the  straight  climb,  which  seemed 
like  holding  on  to  the  side  of  a  wall,  so  precipitous  it 
was,  they  all  felt  that  they  must  rest.  The  reader 
who  has  ascended  the  side  of  a  mountain  knows  that 
so  long  as  one  climbs  there  is  little  that  makes  one 
feel  different  from  pursuing  a  difficult  path  on  an  ordi 
nary  hill.  It  is  only  when  the  traveler  turns  and 
looks  down  the  steep  sides  he  has  ascended,  or  perhaps 

287 


288  I,OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

to  a  peak  opposite  to  the  one  on  which  he  is  standing, 
that  a  feeling  of  awe  and  dizziness  creeps  upon  him. 
One  involuntarily  hugs  the  side  of  the  mountain,  be 
cause  he  feels  that  he  sticks  straight  into  space  like 
a  flag  staff  on  a  building.  When  our  friends  stopped, 
this  feeling  just  described,  made  them  all  involuntarily 
sit  down.  It  was  a  pretty  view  even  half  way  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain  toward  the  summit  of  which  they 
were  slowly  toiling.  They  could  see  the  little  stream 
winding  in  the  canon  more  than  a  thousand  feet 
beneath  them.  They  could  not  hear  its  splashing 
now.  It  looked  as  if  it  were  petrified  into  a  solid 
mass,  lying  in  the  deepest  hollow  in  the  canon,  as  sil 
ver  that  had  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  hardened  as 
it  flowed  from  the  smelter,  without  the  workman  to 
guide  it  into  its  proper  channel.  It  was  a  pretty  sight 
and  relieved  the  feeling  of  dizziness  which  at  first 
steals  over  one  on  looking  down  from  any  elevated 
position. 

The  girls  now  advised  the  gentlemen  to  descend;  but 
they  were  determined  to  reach  the  top,  now  that  they 
were  half  way  up.  They  argued  that  it  would  be  easy 
for  them  to  reach  the  summit,  look  about  them,  and 
then  return  before  it  would  be  dark.  It  was  now  only 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  They  had  come  to 
this  point  from  the  water-fall  in  less  than  an  hour. 
They  would  reach  the  the  top  in  another  hour.  Then 
they  would  rest  for  an  hour  if  they  so  wished,  and  they 
could  easily  descend  in  half  the  time  it  had  taken  them 
to  ascend.  Carrie's  hero  jokingly  added,  that  if  they 


I,OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  289 

were  pressed  for  time  they  could  fall  down.  It  was 
sufficiently  steep  some  places  so  that  one  could  get  to 
the  bottom  by  striking  once  or  twice. 

After  a  rest  of  ten  minutes  or  more  they  again 
started.  Dr.  Burns  led  the  way.  He  had  a  stout  cord 
about  his  loins  which  Jennie,  who  walked  immediately 
behind  him,  had  passed  around  her  and  then  the  cord 
was  tied  to  Carrie's  left  arm.  The  hero,  as  everybody 
in  the  party  had  learned  to  call  him,  walked  unsecured. 
He  jokingly  said  that  he  would  keep  the  rest  from 
falling.  The  doctor  who  happened  to  have  the  cord 
in  his  pocket  had  used  it  in  the  manner  indicated  more 
in  jest  than  earnest. 

Finally  they  came  to  an  almost  perpendicular  ascent. 
For  more  than  fifty  yards  along  this  wall  of  rock  the 
path  was  several  feet  wide  and  very  solid,  then  it 
terminated  in  a  ditch  which  the  waters  from  the  top  of 
the  mountain  had  worn  in  their  precipitous  descent. 
The  ditch  was  steep  and  could  not  be  ascended. 
Those  who  had  gone  up  the  mountain  before  them, 
had  picked  places  for  their  feet  in  the  wall  of  rock 
which  was  not  over  a  dozen  feet  high.  The  girls  said 
they  could  not  possibly  ascend  this  rock.  The  doctor 
showed  them  how  easy  it  was  by  going  up  first,  hav 
ing  detached  the  cord  that  bound  him  to  the  others. 
When  he  was  up  he  lay  upon  the  flat  surface  of  the 
rock  and  stretched  his^hand  to  Jennie.  She  was  half 
dragged  and  half  pushed  up.  When  Carrie  tried  to 
follow  Jennie  her  hand  slipped  from  the  doctor's  im- 


290  I.OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

perfect  grasp  and  she  fell  backwards  into  her  hero's 
arms. 

The  next  attempt  was  more  successful.  She  too 
was  landed  on  top  of  the  rock.  When  she  was  up  she 
said,  "  Jennie  Dives  do  you  ever  expect  to  get  down 
to  the  bottom  of  this  hill  alive  ?"  Again  she  counseled 
retracing  their  footsteps;  but  the  goal  was  near  and 
they  went  on.  In  half  an  hour  more  they  were  on  the 
summit.  There  was  only  a  narrow  canon  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  hill,  and  then  another  mountain  just  as 
high  and  precipitous  as  the  one  upon  whose  summit 
they  were  standing.  They  felt  disappointed;  but  they 
were  so  tired  that  they  all  sat  down.  When  they 
finally  arose  to  go  the  sun  was  low,  and  the  do<5lor 
said  he  wished  to  see  the  sun  set.  Toward  the  west 
they  had  by  far  the  best  view.  The  mountain  chain 
deflected  toward  the  north-west.  They  argued  that  it 
could  not  take  long  to  see  the  sun  set,  so  they  staid. 
When  its  red  disk  was  disappearing  into  a  veil  of  fog 
which  hung  low  on  the  ocean,  they  turned  to  go. 
They  did  not  even  then  realize  how  short  is  a  Califor 
nia  twilight.  When  they  got  well  started  they  began 
to  appreciate  the  fact  that  it  would  be  dark  before 
they  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 

At  the  top  of  the  mountain  there  were  a  number  of 
paths,  and  the  sage  was  higher  than  it  was  on  the  side 
over  which  the  trail  had  led  them.  They  walked 
about  ten  minutes  before  they  realized  that  they  were 
going  in  an  opposite  direction  from  that  in 
which  they  had  intended  to  go.  They  reascended 


I,OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  291 

to  the  summit  and  set  out  afresh.  They 
walked  fully  half  an  hour  and  at  last  came  to  a 
wall  of  rock.  It  seemed  a  little  steeper  than  when 
they  ascended  it;  for  they  felt  sure  that  it  must  be  the 
very  same  over  which  they  had  climbed  an  hour  or  so 
before.  It  was  now  quite  dark,  but  they  managed  to 
get  down  in  safety.  As  they  went  on,  the  path  be 
came  more  and  more  indistinct.  Finally  they  con 
cluded  that  they  would  better  wait  for  the  rising  of 
the  moon.  It  had  been  full-moon  only  the  even 
ing  previous.  It  would  then  be  light  as  day.  After 
they  sat  a  little  while  they  first  realized  how  cold  and 
hungry  they  were.  It  might  be  dangerous  to  start  a 
fire.  It  would  attract  wild  animals,  and  besides  they 
might  set  fire  to  the  dry  grass,  and  have  a  bigger  fire 
than  they  wished.  But  they  were  getting  so  cold. 
Finally  the  men  found  a  flat  rock  in  the  trail.  They 
cleaned  all  the  dry  grass  away,  and  tried  to  find  some 
wood.  This  was  by  no  means  an  easy  task.  There 
was  enough  thin,  brushy  material,  but  nothing  thick 
enough  to  make  a  lasting  fire.  Finally  they  succeeded 
in  finding  some  roots,  and  the  fire  was  started.  Its 
cheering  warmth  made  them  feel  better,  but  it  did  not 
relieve  their  hunger.  They  told  all  the  stories  they 
knew,  but  there  was  not  much  entertainment  in  the 
stories  or  the  narrators. 

Just  as  the  clouds  in  the  eastern  horizon  became 
silvered  with  the  rising  moon,  and  their  old  spirit  of 
cheerfulness  was  beginning  to  assert  itself,  there  was 
a  noise  in  the  bushes  close  by,  as  of  some  large  animal. 


292  I,OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  thought  of  mountain  lions,  wild  cats  and  even 
huge  rattle-snakes,  in  an  instant  filled  the  souls  of  the 
girls  with  terror.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  noise  began 
two  revolvers  flashed  their  bright  steel  in  the  fire-light. 
The  whole  party  felt  better  when  they  realized  that 
they  were  not  wholly  defenceless.  The  noise  had 
ceased  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  begun.  The  beating 
of  the  girls'  hearts  might  have  been  heard  if  the  party 
would  have  been  listening  for  heart  throbs  just  then. 
Usually  fear  springs  from  ignorance,  but  it  terrifies 
more  than  when  a  knowledge  of  the  real  danger  fills 
the  mind.  Imaginary  dangers,  like  imagined  causes 
for  trouble,  are  the  most  trying.  Dangers  seen  beget 
courage,  but  unseen  they  are  magnified  by  the  imag 
ination  until  they  are  large  and  awful  enough  to  drive 
every  bit  of  courage  from  the  heart  of  the  bravest 
man,  and  fill  it  with  the  most  abject  terror.  It  was  so 
with  every  taan  and  woman  in  that  little  party. 

Carrie's  hero  thought  that  he  could  do  nothing  bet 
ter  than  to  discharge  the  revolver,  which  he  did 
accordingly,  and  which  added  to  the  terror  of  the  rest, 
until  they  learned  that  he  had  discharged  it  to  frighten 
not  them,  but  the  supposed  lurking  foe.  When  he 
shot,  a  large,  red  animal  bounded  into  the  air,  and  ran 
in  an  opposite  direction.  Both  of  the  men  shouted, 
"A  deer!"  What  a  nice  supper  they  might  have 
had,  had  they  known  that  the  animal  which  had  terri 
fied  them  so  was  really  nothing  but  a  deer,  which  had 
been  attracted  to  the  fire. 


I.OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  293 

The  moon  had  now  dispelled  the  darkness,  and  they 
felt  that  they  had  better  go,  or  it  would  be  morning 
before  they  would  reach  the  city,  if  indeed  they  would 
reach  it  then.  Their  driver  might  have  left  them  in 
his  anxiety  to  get  back.  They  now  descended  rapidly, 
although  they  at  times  lost  the  trail,  and  scratched 
themselves  in  the  bushes.  In  less  than  an  hour  after 
the  discharge  of  the  pistol  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  They  were  tired,  it  was  true,  but  the  walk 
of  half  a  mile  or  so  that  must  be  taken  before  they 
would  get  to  their  lunch  baskets  was  nothing  at  all, 
now  that  they  were  safely  at  the  foot- of  the  trail.  It 
seemed  strange  they  did  not  hear  the  water-fall.  The 
stream,  too,  seemed  larger  than  it  had  been  when 
they  walked  on  its  banks  in  the  afternoon.  All  of  the 
party  were  impressed  with  the  strange  appearance  of 
the  canon.  It  did  not  seem  as  wide  as  before.  At 
last  Carrie's  hero  said:  "  I  will  leave  you  and  go  up 
the  canon  until  I  get  to  the  fall." 

Dr.  Burns  said  he  could  not  see  what  that  would  be 
for. 

Carrie  said:  "  I  know  why  he  wishes  to  go  to  the 
falls.  He  thinks  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  find  them 
on  this  side  of  the  mountain.  In  other  words,  we  are 
lost.  We  are  farther  from  the  carriage  now  than  we 
have  been  all  this  day." 

It  was  even  so.  Our  friends  had  taken  the  wrong 
road  from  the  start.  They  had  gone  in  an  opposite 
direction  from  what  they  had  intended.  The  great 
shelf  of  rock  over  which  they  had  come,  and  which 


294  I,OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

made  them  feel  sure  that  they  were  on  the  right  road, 
had  simply  repeated  itself  on  the  side  of  the  mountain 
along  which  they  had  come.  The  truth  had  been 
forced  upon  all  of  them  about  the  same  time;  but  no 
one  had  been  brave  enough  to  confess  it.  One  thing 
was  sure:  they  were  too  tired,  and  it  was  too  unsafe 
even  to  try  to  climb  the  mountain  before  daylight. 
Jennie  sobbed  aloud,  and  said,  "  Oh,  why  did  we  come 
to  this  dreadful  place  ?  We  will  never  get  home 
again.  Oh,  my  poor  sister." 

"Come  now,  Cousin,  be  brave,"  said  Carrie.  "Don't 
give  up  to  death  until  you  are  sure  you  must.  I  ex 
pect  to  eat  my  luncheon  in  L,os  Angeles.  I  wish  I 
could  have  some  of  it  now.  I  would  be  willing  to 
forego  the  pleasure  of  eating  it  later. ' ' 

Carrie's  hero  proposed  that  Dr.  Burns  stay  with  the 
ladies,  and  that  he  return  to  the  carriage  and  get  them 
some  food.  He  said  he  felt  sure  he  would  be  able  to 
return  by  daylight.  Dr.  Burns  favored  the  plan;  but 
Carrie  said  if  he  could  return  she  felt  that  she,  at  least, 
could  accompany  him.  Of  course  our  friend  knew 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  girl  to  do  it.  He 
said  he  would  rest  a  little  while  and  then  he  would 
start.  There  could  be  nothing  to  eat  until  he  brought 
it.  Anything  they  might  be  able  to  shoot  could  not 
be  prepared  so  as  to  make  it  at  all  palatable. 

After  our  friend  had  rested  about  half  an  hour,  and 
Dr.  Burns  had  kindled  a  fire  for  the  comfort  of  the 
ladies,  he  arose  and  said:  "Well,  folks,  I  am  going. 
Keep  up  your  spirits,  and  by  two  o'clock  you  will  see 


I.OST  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  295 

me  coming  over  the  hill,  and  we  will  have  coffee,  and 
the  best  breakfast  we  have  had  since  we  left  Col 
orado.  ' ' 

The  girls  saw  that  the  hero's  plan  was  their  only 
hope,  so  they  finally  consented  that  he  should  go. 
Carrie  rose  and  went  with  him  a  few  steps,  then 
stretching  out  her  hand  she  said:  "  Good-by,  you  dear, 
brave  fellow.  God  bless  you."  The  hero  turned  and 
was  gone.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  they  heard  a  pis 
tol-shot.  It  sounded  far  away  and  above  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SUNDRIES. 

"  Dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal, 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal: 

******* 

And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before." 

— Campbell. 

The  summer  that  Jennie  Dives  spent  in  Colorado 
and  in  traveling, the  Dives'  home  on  Fifth  Avenue  was 
closed  The  horses  were  given  in  charge  of  the  at 
torney  of  the  Dives.  He  used  them  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  time;  one  of  his  own  having  died  shortly 
before,  he  sold  the  remaining  one.  It  was  thus  quite 
an  accomodation  to  both  him  and  his  neighbors  to  take 
charge  of  their  team.  Susie  said  she  was  glad  that 
they  were  not  compelled  to  sell  the  team,  because  they 
were  both  good  and  reliable  horses. 

The  cook  was  given  a  place  in  his  old  profession,  in 
a  restaurant  on  Coney  Island.  He  gave  Susie  Dives 
his  promise  to  return  to  the  Dives'  kitchen  no  later 
than  the  first  of  September.  The  fact  that  he  had  a 
good  place  kept  him  away  from  Sharp  and  defended 
him  against  his  old  companions  with  whom  he  had  be 
come  tolerably  intimate  during  the  fall  and  winter  of 
his  stay  in  the  city. 

Susie  Dives  went  with  a  lady  friend  first  to  Coney 
Island  and  then  to  the  more  quiet  place  known  as 
296 


SUNDRIES.  297 

Ocean  Grove.  She  was  spending  the  season  very 
pleasantly.  She  knew  that  her  sister  was  in  good 
hands  although  she  for  a  part  of  the  summer  did  not 
hear  from  her  every  week.  The  reader  of  this  narra 
tive  will  learn  wh}r  this  apparent  neglect  on  the  part  of 
Jennie.  He  will  see  that  at  times  it  was  better  to  keep 
silent  than  to  write.  We  cannot  say  that  Susie  felt 
herself  neglected  on  the  part  of  her  sister;  but  we  do 
know  that  she  would  have  been  glad  to  hear  from  her 
more  frequently  than  she  did.  She  had  a  loving  heart 
and  for  no  one  was  her  affection  stronger  than  for  her 
sister. 

Felix  kept  his  place  behind  the  desk  of  Mr.  Abra 
ham.  He  did  not  even  ask  for  a  vacation;  although 
he  did  feel  somewhat  lonesome,  because  he  knew  that 
all  his  friends  were  out  of  the  city.  The  Abrahams 
had  a  summer  home  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson. 
Mr.  Abraham  spent  much  of  his  time  there  with  his 
wife  and  daughter.  They  staid  there  from  the  begin 
ning  of  June  until  the  last  of  September.  Much  of 
the  work  that  Mr.  Abraham  did  devolved  in  his  ab 
sence  upon  the  book-keepers.  In  the  few  months  that 
Felix  had  been  in  the  business  he  had  learned  most  of 
what  was  required  to  keep  things  going  during  the 
quieter  months  of  the  summer.  If  it  would  have  been 
the  busy  season  it  would  have  been  different.  One 
Saturday  afternoon,  he  was  called  to  the  telephone. 
Mr.  Abraham  was  there.  He  said,  "  Felix,  is  that 
you?"  The  reply  being  in  the  affirmative  he  said, 
"  Felix,  the  ladies  invite  you  to  come  up  to  the  cha- 


298  SUNDRIES. 

teau  to  spend  Sunday  with  us.  You  can  tell  the  rest 
in  the  office  that  you  will  not  be  back  before  Monday 
afternoon,  or  Tuesday  morning.  It  is  likely  that  this 
will  be  all  the  vacation  that  you  will  get  this  summer. ' ' 
Felix  thanked  the  old  gentleman  for  his  kindness  and 
communicated  the  instructions  to  the  rest  in  the  office. 

The  head  book-keeper  said,  "  Felix,  I  can't  under 
stand  why  you  are  so  popular  with  the  old  man.  We 
have  been  in  this  office  five  years.  In  all  that  time 
we  never  had  an  invitation  to  the  chateau,  nor  to  his 
home  on  the  Avenue.  How  do  you  work  it  anyhow? 
How  came  that  girl  of  his  to  fall  in  love  with  you  at 
sight  ?  There  are  plenty  of  men  in  New  York  City 
that  are  just  as  good  looking  as  you  are." 

Felix  replied  that  he  did  not  know  why  the  old 
gentleman  should  take  a  fancy  to  him  more  than  to 
the  rest.  He  himself  considered  them  his  superiors  in 
every  way.  And  as  to  the  young  lady's  being  in  love 
with  him,  he  had  not  even  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
He  considered  his  informants  visionary  enough  to  be 
poets. 

When  the  proper  time  came  our  hero  stepped  on  the 
train  en  route  for  the  Abraham  chateau. 

The  daughter  of  Mr.  Abraham  and  her  little  brother 
Bennie  were  at  the  station  to  meet  Felix.  He  was  in 
vited  to  step  into  the  phaeton,  of  which  Miss  Abraham 
was  herself  the  driver,  and  in  good  and  fashionable 
style  she  brought  him  to  the  chateau.  We  cannot 
dwell  on  a  description  of  this,  one  of  the  many  beauti 
ful  homes  that  are  situated  on  the  Hudson.  That 


SUNDRIES.  299 

same  evening  the  young  lady  and  he  took  a  boat  ride. 
It  was  a  beautiful  moon-light  evening.  Felix  could 
row  and  so  could  his  companion.  Those  of  my  read 
ers  who  have  taken  boat  rides  with  but  one  companion 
and  that  one  of  their  opposite  sex,  and  at  their  time  in 
life  when  their  hearts  were  their  own,  know  all  the 
fascination,  the  charm,  the  sentiment,  the  poetry,  there 
is  in  a  moonlight  boat  ride.  There  was  one  thing 
about  Miss  Abraham  that  Felix  did  not  like.  We 
will  listen  to  some  of  their  conversation,  perhaps  the 
reader  can  detect  what  it  is  for  himself. 

"  Mr.  Felix,"  (So  Miss  Abraham  insisted  on  calling 
her  father's  book-keeper,  even  though  she  knew  his 
full  name,)  "  do  you  know  that  you  are  the  only 
young  man  that  my  father  ever  allowed  to  come  to  see 
me?" 

Felix  admitted  that  he  did  not  know  that  such  an 
honor  was  conferred  upon  him.  He  said  he  felt  flat 
tered. 

"  Yes,  rny  mother  asked  him  the  other  day  why  he 
did  not  invite  you  up  to  the  chateau.  He  said  there 
was  time  enough  for  that  yet.  My  father  says  he 
don't  believe  in  rushing  things." 

Felix  said  he  was  aware  of  that  fact;  but  Felix 
also  admitted  that  there  were  some  things  which  Abra 
ham  delighted  in  rushing.  Everything  about  his  busi 
ness  he  liked  to  rush.  Felix  had  learned  that.  ' '  My 
mother  and  father  were  married  when  she  was  as  old 
as  you  are;  but  I  am  not  nearly  as  old  as  papa  was 
when  he  got  married." 


300  SUNDRIES. 

We  have  given  the  reader  the  idea.  We  need  not 
say  anything  more.  This  girl  had  been  brought  up  in 
luxury.  She  had  all  her  heart  could  wish,  except  the 
society  of  young  people  of  the  opposite  sex.  I  sup 
pose  that  if  she  wpuld  have  had  society  like  other 
young  people  she  would  have  been  odd.  Some  people 
are.  One  thing  was  sure,  there  was  not  an  employee  in 
the  Abraham  store  who  would  not  have  tried  very 
hard  to  love  the  girl,  if  he  would  have  had  only  the 
fraction  of  a  chance.  She  was  pretty.  By  the  side 
of  Carrie  or  Jennie  Dives  she  was  homely;  but  she 
passed  for  a  pretty  girl  notwithstanding. 

There  are  two  others  of  whom  we  must  speak. 
They  are  Octavia  and  Mr.  Sharp.  Octavia  was  fated 
to  remain  in  the  city  the  greater  part  of  the  summer. 
She  was  real  strong  again.  She  was  summoned  to 
nurse  the  wife  of  an  English  gentleman,  who  was  on 
his  way  to  the  West,  but  who,  on  account  of  his  wife's 
health,  got  no  farther  than  New  York  City.  Octavia 
found  her  charge  a  very  kind  woman,  patient  and 
appreciative  of  her  nurse's  care.  She  did  not  see  Mr. 
Sharp  very  much  because  of  her  work.  At  least  that 
was  his  excuse  for  not  calling,  and  she  believed  him. 
She  had  given  him  the  right  to  sell  her  property,  and 
he  in  turn  committed  the  business  to  a  real  estate  man 
in  Omaha.  He  instructed  him  to  sell  at  a  sacrifice 
rather  than  miss  a  sale.  Mr.  Sharp  was  anxious  to 
convert  Octavia's  possessions  into  money. 

Sharp  himself  stayed  in  the  Metropolis  during  a 
part  of  the  summer.  He  made  some  plans  for  little 


SUNDRIES. 


odd  jobs  in  the  city  as  he  called  them,  when  he  spoke 
to  his  friends.  The  fa<5t  of  the  matter  is  Sharp  was 
cunning.  He  could  make  plans  for  others  to  carry  out, 
but  he  was  too  cowardly  to  execute  them  himself. 
His  three  companions  were  exactly  the  opposite. 
They  could  make  no  plans,  but  they  were  to  Sharp's 
schemes  what  the  army  is  to  the  general.  They  were 
not  afraid  to  undertake  what  he  planned.  They  had 
the  utmost  confidence  in  his  wisdom.  Only  once  did 
Sharp  undertake  a  "  little  work  "  on  his  own  account. 
He  watched  for  Felix  one  evening  as  he  approached 
his  lodgings,  which  were  still  in  the  room  to  which 
he  had  moved  for  the  safety  of  the  Dives  the  latter 
part  of  the  winter.  When  Sharp  saw  the  young  man 
approaching  the  home  of  the  Dives,  he  stepped  up  to 
him  and  stretching  out  his  hand  towards  him,  he  said, 
whilst  at  the  same  time  a  smile  that  fairly  puckered 
his  thin  lips,  illuminated  his  countenance,  "Mr,  F., 
I  have  been  wishing  to  see  you  for  some  time  already. 
I  suppose  you  have  entirely  forgotten  that  little  mat 
ter  between  you  and  me.  I  knew  when  you  first  came 
here  that  you  were  not  overly  flush,  so  I  did  not  wish 
to  press  you;  but  I  understand  you  are  as  good  as  a 
partner  in  a  large  wholesale  house  in  this  city  now, 
and  booked  to  marry  the  girl  whose  father  took  you 
out  of  the  street.  Being  you  are  so  favorably  situated 
I  thought  I  would  remind  you  of  the  little  account." 

Felix  looked  him  straight  into  the  face,  and  in  a 
short,  gruff  way,  said,  "  What  account?  I  know  of 
no  account  between  you  and  me." 


302  SUNDRIES. 

' '  You  remember,  I  guess,  that  I  secured  you  the 
place  of  coachman  ?  Because  you  have  risen  above  it 
is  no  reason  that  you  should  forget  your  debts.  I 
always  charge  a  commission  when  I  procure  a  place 
for  anyone." 

"  Mr.  Sharp,  you  know  that  you  were  not  running 
an  employment  bureau  at  the  time  you  hired  me  as 
coachman  for  the  Dives.  You  know,  too,  that  they 
insisted  on  your  taking  five  dollars  for  your  trouble. ' ' 

Sharp's  smile  had  changed  into  a  frown.  The  fadl 
that  the  girls  had  even  deigned  to  tell  Felix  that  they 
had  insisted  on  his  taking  five  dollars  for  his  after 
noon's  visit  to  Felix  made  him  mad.  Before  he  real 
ized  what  he  was  saying,  and  saying  to  one  of  the 
warmest  friends  of  the  young  ladies  in  New  York,  he 
blurted  out,  "  They  lie,  if  they  say — "  He  had  not 
finished  his  sentence  before  he  lay  in  the  gutter,  in 
front  of  the  Dives'  home.  He  arose  more  scared  than 
hurt  and  walked  away  swearing  the  most  horrid  oaths 
that  Felix  ever  had  heard. 

That  same  evening  Sharp  entered  the  second-hand 
clothing  room  on  West  street,  and  asked  the  woman, 
who  seemed  to  be  alone  in  the  establishment,  "  Are 
the  boys  not  in  ?  " 

She  pointed  to  the  back  room.  He  walked  to  the 
door,  when  some  one,  whom  Sharp  recognized  as  the 
husband,  very  angrily  swore,  and  asked  whether  he 
had  not  told  her  to  stay  out  and  keep  the  door  shut. 
Sharp  replied,  "  It  is  I.  L,et  me  in."  Instantly  the 
door  was  opened.  Sharp  saw  a  silver  brick  cooling  in 


SUNDRIES.  303 

the  sand.  His  eyes  twinkled  as  he  said,  "Oh,  ho! 
That  looks  like  business.  That  is  a  nice  little  fellow. 
He  is  worth  more  than  two  night's  loss  of  sleep.  And 
the  work  itself  had  not  sufficient  excitement  about  it 
to  keep  you  fully  awake.  I  came  to  see  you  on  a  little 
tough  business,  I  admit,  but  I  will  reward  you  for  it 
if  you  will  make  a  good  job  of  it.  I  was  grossly 
insulted  by  that  puppy  who  is  getting  more  impudent 

every  day.  I  refer  to  the  coachman  of  the 

Dives.  He  waylaid  me  this  evening  simply  because 
he  owes  me  a  bill,  contracted  when  he  was  yet  in  Cali 
fornia.  He  knocked  me  down  on  the  street.  Young 
ster,  if  you  will  thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life, 
you  will  do  me  a  big  favor.  I  will  give  you  ten  dol 
lars,  if  you  will  make  a  good  job  of  it.  I'll  teach  him 
that  I  take  no  trifling. ' ' 

"  All  right,"  said  the  man.  "I'll  make  a  good  job 
of  it.  I'll  knock  him  down  and  waltz  on  his  face 
when  he  lies  on  his  back." 

The  fellow  asked  how  he  could  get  a  hold  of  Felix. 
He  was  told  to  go  to  his  room  any  evening  after  six 
o'clock  and  he  would  be  likely  to  find  him.  He  could 
call  him  out  and  give  him  a  note,  and  when  he  was  off 
his  guard  he  could  knock  him  down  and  ' '  then  finish 
the  business." 

One  more  event  in  Sharp's  career  needs  to  be 
noticed.  The  next  day  after  he  had  instructed  the 
young  villain  to  at$ack  this  innocent  and  upright 
man,  Sharp  received  a  letter  from  the  real  estate  agent 
in  Omaha,  stating  that  the  house  in  the  city  was  sold 


304  SUNDRIES. 

and  the  ranch  was  as  good  as  sold.  The  letter  con 
tained  a  draft  for  $5,000,  which  had  been  paid  as  a 
guarantee  by  the  purchaser.  He  asked  Sharp  to  have 
deeds  made  and  have  them  properly  acknowledged,  and 
the  rest  of  the  money  would  be  sent  in  due  time.  The 
sale  was  to  be  for  cash.  That  same  day  Sharp  bore 
the  draft  in  triumph  to  Octavia,  and  got  the  deeds, 
and  went  to  work  on  them  at  once.  Octavia  now  had 
$5,300  of  her  fortune  in  her  possession.  Mr.  Sharp 
told  her  he  would  probably  go  to  Omaha  as  soon  as 
she  would  acknowledge  the  deeds,  and  clean  up  the 
whole  real  estate  business,  and  bring  her  the  cash. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  TRIP  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

"  So  if  I  live  or  die  to  serve  my  friend, 
'Tis  for  my  love — 'tis  for  my  friend  alone, 
And  not  for  any  rate  that  friendship  bears 
In  heaven  or  on  earth." — George  Eliot. 

The  driver  went  up  the  canon  to  the  water- fall.  He 
felt  sure  that  he  would  find  them  there  fast  asleep. 
It  would  not  be  the  first  party  he  had  aroused  from 
sleep  in  that  very  place.  When  he  arrived  there  he 
could  scarcely  credit  his  eyes  when  they  informed  his 
intellect  that  the  people  were  really  not  there. , 
Against  the  side  of  the  perpendicular  wall  of  rock 
there  leaned  an  old,  slimy,  delapidated  ladder.  He 
had  seen  this  on  former  journeys  to  the  canon.  It 
had  no  doubt  been  made  years  ago  by  some  miners, 
who  felt  sure  that  if  there  were  ' '  a  pocket ' '  in  the 
rock  above,  over  which  the  water  poured,  they  would 
find  gold  in  "the  pocket."  He  wondered  how  they 
had  succeeded,  even  whilst  he  approached  the  old  lad 
der  to  see  whether  anybody  had  disturbed  the  slime 
and  moss  upon  it.  He  turned  away  in  disgust,  saying, 
' '  Might  know  no  ladies  could  climb  that  old — nor  men 
either,"  he  added,  without  finishing  his  sentence. 
He  thought  long  and  deeply,  then  he  rose,  looked 
for  the  sun,  and  toward  the  top  of  the  huge 
gray  mountain.  He  could  not  imagine  what  had 

3°5 


306  A  TRIP  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

become  of  his  party.  He  concluded  that  there 
was  only  one  thing  to  do,  that  was  to  go  back  to  his 
team  and  wait.  He  had  no  revolver,  he  thought  to 
himself,  and  whilst  there  might  be  no  mountain-lions 
or  anything  else  to  disturb  him,  he  would  rather  have 
been  armed,  because  he  did  not  know  how  long  it 
might  be  before  he  could  leave  the  place.  He  did  not 
even  then  dream  that  he  had  an  all-night  job  on  hand. 

A  while  after  the  moon  had  risen,  the  old  man  care 
fully  secured  his  horses,  lit  his  pipe  and  proceeded  up 
the  canon.  "Pears  tome  this  is  sorter  taken  one's 
life  in  hes  hans.  Cats  is  awful  bold  sometimes. 
Wonder  whether  them  fellows  has  arms.  Gess  they 
has,  likely  as  not."  Thus  our  friend  soliloquized  as 
he  proceeded  up  the  canon.  When  he  was  near  the 
falls  he  heard  the  pistol  shot  to  which  we  alluded  in  a 
former  chapter.  It  had  been  fired  by  Carrie's  hero  as 
a  signal  that  he  had  reached  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
Those  who  were  huddled  around  the  fire  at  the  bottom 
did  not  know  what  it  meant.  It  might  mean  that 
some  wild  animal  had  been  encountered,  or  that  he 
who  went  to  seek  for  them  food  was  lost  both  to  them 
and  to  the  man  at  the  carriage  half  a  dozen  miles 
away.  There  was  but  one  thing  they  could  do.  It 
was  to  wait  and  see. 

When  the  old  man  heard  the  shot,  he  said,  "  Just  as 
I  expected.  They  are  lost."  He  concluded  that  the 
very  best  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  shout.  He  did 
so,  and  that  like  a  Comanche.  If  it  had  been  daylight, 
he  could  have  seen  Carrie's  hero  picking  his  way  along 


A  TRIP  BY  MOONLIGHT.  307 

the  trail.  As  it  was  he  did  not  see  him,  nor  did  our 
friend  hear  his  whoops.  He,  however,  felt  encouraged, 
and  wondered  whether  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to 
drive  along  the  narrow  mountain  road  by  moonlight. 
We  have  already  seen  that  there  was  no  occasion  for 
worrying  on  that  score.  The  old  man  sat  down  on  a 
stone  and  waited  a  while,  listening  for  some  more 
noise.  When  the  mind  is  intently  fixed  on  any  par 
ticular  subject  for  a  time,  drowsiness  may  ensue. 
Especially  is  this  the  case  when  he  who  tries  so  to  fix 
his  mind,  is  fatigued.  The  old  man  had  not  listened 
very  long  before  he  was  asleep. 

Our  friend  was  still  coming  nearer.  In  the  quiet 
night  he  heard  first  a  murmur.  It  became  louder  every 
moment,  until  his  soul  was  filled  with  joy  as  he  real 
ized  that  it  was  the  water-fall.  Yes,  he  was  on  the 
right  road.  He  would  soon  be  at  the  little  stream 
which  they  had  crossed  more  than  eight  hours  ago. 
Sure  enough,  there  was  the  stream.  Its  water  spar 
kled  in  the  moonlight.  He  ran  to  the  little  stream. 
He  leaped  it,  and  as  he  did  so  he  gave  a  yell  that  could 
have  been  heard  a  mile  away.  He  had  jumped  right 
against  the  old  man  who  was  sitting  on  the  trail  upon 
a  big  stone,  fast  asleep.  The  shadow  of  the  overhang 
ing  branches  of  the  tree  beneath  which  he  sat,  had 
concealed  him  from  the  young  man,  who,  with  a  heart 
leaping  for  joy  that  he  had  so  nearly  accomplished 
half  of  his  journey,  had  jumped  upon  the  prostrate 
form.  The  old  man,  who  did  not  know  what  had 
occurred  in  addition  to  his  being  knocked  over, 


308  A  TRIP  BY  MOONUGHT. 

scrambled  up  and  began  to  beat  the  air,  whilst  at  the 
same  time  he  gave  short,  hoarse  cries,  which  betrayed 
how  thoroughly  frightened  he  was.  Our  friend  kept 
out  of  the  reach  of  his  fistic  fusillade. 

He  soon  recovered  from  his  own  fright  and  made 
himself  known  to  the  old  man.  He  told  him  briefly 
how  they  had  lost  their  way  that  evening,  and  that 
the  others  were  awaiting  his  return  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hill.  The  old  man  proposed  that  he  take  the 
lunch  basket  to  them.  '  Our  friend  said:  "  You  could 
not  find  them  if  you  did.  Have  you  ever  crossed  the 
mountain?"  The  old  gentleman  confessed  that  this 
was  one  of  the  few  mountains  in  the  state  that  he  had 
not  crossed.  "  It  is  a  very  tiresome  journey.  It  took 
me  three  hours  to  make  it  empty-handed.  It  will 
take  fully  as  long  to  return.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
moon  it  would  be  impossible  to  do  it  to-night." 

The  old  man  suggested  that  he  would  go  to  the  car 
riage  for  the  baskets,  and  that  the  younger  should 
rest  until  he  returned.  Our  friend  saw  the  wisdom  of 
his  suggestion,  but  charged  him  to  bring  both  baskets. 
In  a  minute  more  the  old  man  was  gone.  In  a  few 
moments  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  was  lost  in  the  dis 
tance. 

The  driver  soon  returned.  When  he  came  up 
they  opened  the  two  baskets  and  took  out  of  them  the 
best  of  the  food  that  still  remained.  They  sorted  the 
dishes  into  one,  then  packed  the  food,  together  with 
the  coffee-pot,  into  the  other.  In  had  not  required 
many  moments  before  the  preparations  were  complete. 


A  TRIP  BY  MOONUGHT.  309 

The  old  man  had  brought  a  strap  with  him.  He 
slipped  the  handle  of  the  basket  on  our  friend's  arm. 
Then  he  passed  the  strap  between  the  handle  and  the 
basket  and  around  our  friend's  neck.  "  There,  now 
you  will  find  that  much  easier.  You  can  use  both 
hands,  ef  you  need  them,  and  still  hold  the  vittals,"  he 
said. 

Once  more  Carrie's  hero  started  up  the  trail.  The 
old  man  watched  him  as  far  as  he  could  see,  which  was 
not  very  far  in  the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon.  When 
he  could  no  longer  hear  him  as  he  started  the  loose 
stones  down  the  trail,  he  turned  and  walked  slowly 
down  the  canon  toward  the  carriage,  for  he,  too,  was 
beginning  to  feel  tired.  When  he  reached  the  car 
riage  he  shoved  the  seats  together,  and  lying  down 
flat  upon  the  cushions  he  had  placed  at  the  bottom  of 
the  carriage,  and  using  the  robes  for  covering,  he  fell 
asleep  and  heard  nothing  more  of  the  world.  When 
he  awoke  the  sun  was  already  up,  and  the  horses  were 
neighing  for  something  to  eat.  He  crawled  up  from 
beneath  his  cover,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  about 
him.  He  could  see  no  traces  of  his  party.  He  con 
cluded  that  they  would  come  ere  long,  so  he  watered 
his  horses,  and  began  getting  ready  for  a  start  which 
he  was  anxious  to  make  at  the  earliest  moment  pos 
sible. 

Out  on  the  mountain  there  were  three  people  who 
were  more  anxious  than  the  guide.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  they  did  not  sleep.  They  were  too  anxious 
about  themselves  and  their  friend's  return  to  care  to 


310  A  TRIP  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

sleep,  tired  as  they  were.  They  kept  up  the  fire  all 
the  night,  because  it  was  too  cold  to  do  otherwise,  and 
because  they  felt  safer.  They  sat  in  the  uncertain 
light  of  the  moon  and  the  fire  like  the  three  fates. 
Carrie  once  jokingly  remarked  that  there  was  posi 
tively  nothing  on  that  mountain  or  in  the  canons  that 
would  not  be  afraid  of  them.  She  had  scarcely  finished 
her  sentence  when  there  was  a  loud  screech  in  the  tree 
a  few  rods  away  from  them.  Jennie  clasped  Dr. 
Burns'  arm.  He  remembered  what  the  hero  had  done 
under  similar  circumstances  a  few  hours  ago.  He 
promptly  pulled  out  his  revolver,  and  bidding  the  girls 
to  keep  quiet  he  stepped  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  cry  had  come.  He  thought  he  saw  a  dark  object, 
and  fired;  but  with  the  shot  the  branch  of  an  adjacent 
tree  shook,  a  big  object  leaped  from  it  across  the  strip 
of  moonlight  upon  another  tree  fully  twenty  feet 
away.  They  all  knew  it  was  a  wild-cat.  By  and  by 
the  dawn  began  to  appear,  and  they  hoped  that  Car 
rie's  hero  would  soon  be  there. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS,  AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA. 

"  See  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven, 
And  the  waves  clasp  one  another." — Shelley. 

Our  friend  was  soon  well  on  the  way  to  the  trio  who 
were  anxiously  awaiting  his  return.  He  found  the 
ascent  much  more  difficult  with  his  basket  on  his  arm, 
(although  it  was  partly  supported  by  the  strap  around 
his  neck)  than  when  he  went  up  before  with  the  rest. 
There  were  several  reasons  for  this.  Then  it  was  day 
light.  Much  has  been  said  about  the  beauty  and  the 
poetry  of  the  moonlight  walk;  but  after  all  the  sun 
furnishes  the  best  light  for  mountain  climbing.  Then 
too,  the  first  time  he  made  the  ascent  he  was  not  in 
the  least  fatigued.  He  then  felt  as  if  he  could  walk 
all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  and  not  weary.  Now  he 
had  not  only  walked  all  of  the  afternoon  but  also  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  and  that  with  great  anxiety 
for  himself  and  those  who  were  entrusted  to  his  care. 
Reason  as  he  might  with  regard  to  his  share  of  the 
responsibility  for  their  losing  the  way  on  the  moun 
tain,  he  felt  that  if  anything  should  happen  to  Carrie 
or  to  Jennie,  he  would  not  be  able  again  to  look  into 
the  face  of  Mr.  Dives.  It  was  thus  that  the  power  of 
thought,  the  "  magic  of  the  mind,"  made  the  road 


312  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

less  wearisome  as  the  hero  slowly  dragged  himself  to 
wards  the  top  of  the  mountain. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  wall  of  rock.  He  had 
dreaded  this  every  time  he  thought  of  it.  He  looked 
at  the  wall  as  it  stood  between  him  and  his  path  be 
yond.  His  eye  looked  in  vain  to  find  a  place  less 
abrupt.  He  reasoned  that  if  there  would  have  been  a 
way  to  avoid  it  in  the  ascent,  the  first  person  whose 
footsteps  trod  that  path  would  have  found  that  way. 
The  next  would  have  followed  it,  and  so  on.  In  this 
world  most  people  are  like  geese,  they  follow  a  well 
trodden  path.  Now  and  then  there  is  a  gander  bold 
enough  to  leave  the  flock  and  try  a  path  of  his  own. 
Sometimes  such  a  gander  comes  back  to  tell  his  exper 
ience.  More  frequently  he  doesn't.  It  is  difficult  to 
tell  to  which  of  the  geese  the  world  owes  the  more,  to 
those  who  leave  the  beaten  path  or  to  those  who  re 
main  in  it.  We  like  to  speak  of  what  those  have  done 
who  left  the  path;  but  we  forget  to  speak  of  what 
those  have  done  who  remained  in  it. 

He  managed  to  climb  the  rock  and  having  accomplish 
ed  this,  he  felt  that  the  hardest  part  of  his  journey  was 
over.  He  soon  reached  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 
Going  along  the  top  a  few  hundred  yards,  he  realized 
that  the  moon  had  lost  herself  behind  a  bank  of  clouds, 
and  that  he  was  really  walking  by  the  light  of  the 
new-born  day.  The  peaks  to  the  east  of  him  were  al 
ready  being  touched  by  the  quivering  fire  of  the  com 
ing  sun.  He  drew  his  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  fired 
straight  up  toward  the  stars  that  had  as  yet  not  all 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA.  313 

*t 

faded  in  the  light  of  the  oncoming  morn.  In  a  few 
moments  there  was  the  echo  of  a  shot  from  the  canon 
below.  His  heart  leaped  for  joy  because  he  felt  all 
were  safe.  He  hastened  forward.  His  haste  might 
have  cost  him  dearly.  He  almost  tumbled  over  the 
corresponding  wall  of  rock  of  which  we  have 
spoken.  Having  stopped  in  time  to  save  himself,  he 
found  this  wall  was  not  so  difficult  as  the  one  he  ascend 
ed.  It  is  nearly  always  easier  to  descend  than  to  asctnd. 
The  stopping  may  be  attended  with  worse  conse 
quences.  This  is  true  in  the  moral  world  as  well  as  in 
the  physical.  About  twenty  minutes  after  the 
wall  of  rock  was  left  behind,  our  hero  stepped  up  to 
the  fire  around  which  the  three  sat. 

The  girls  made  their  toilet  at  the  creek,  whilst  the 
doctor  put  water  into  the  little  coffee-pot  and  set  it  on 
the  fire.  He  also  spread  the  cloth  and  arranged  the 
food  upon  it.  When  the  girls  returned,  the}7  looked 
pleased.  The  coffee  was  soon  made  and  the  four  sat 
down  to  their  breakfast.  It  is  true  they  suffered  from 
exposure  and  had  taken  some  cold,  yet  they  were  com 
paratively  comfortable.  The  warm  coffee  invigorated 
them.  The  table  was  soon  cleared  and  the  remainder 
of  the  food  carefully  put  away.  Carrie  mockingly 
said,  it  might  be  a  week  before  they  got  back  to  the 
city,  and  the  strictest  economy  must  be  practiced . 

They  all  agreed  that  the  very  earliest  moment,  was 
the  best  to  make  the  climb  up  the  mountain.  After 
the  three  had  walked  a  while  they  felt  less  weary  than 
when  they  started.  In  four  hours  after  they  began 


314  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

n 

their  climb  they  stood  safe  and  sound  around  the  car 
riage,  waiting  for  the  last  strap  to  be  adjusted,  before 
they  began  the  drive  back  to  the  city.  It  was  one 
o'clock  when  they  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  in  front 
of  the  cousin's  home.  The  men  went  to  their  hotel 
to  rest  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  the  ladies  went 
to  bed.  The  dodtor  had  recommended  that,  and  it 
was  a  direction  which  they  were  heartily  glad  to  com  • 
ply  with.  So  ended  the  journey  which  had  cost  them 
much  anxiety  and  considerable  exposure  and  incon 
venience. 

Two  weeks  had  now  passed  away  since  they  left 
their  Colorado  home.  Mr.  Dives  expected  them  back 
in  another  week.  Only  one  of  the  little  party  had 
seen  the  Pacific,  and  she  had  seen  it  on  a  former  visit. 
They  must  see  the  great  ocean,  and  bathe  in  it  before 
they  returned.  The  day  after  their  return  from  the 
mountain  was  the  Sabbath.  The  party  went  to  church 
in  the  evening,  and  before  they  parted,  they  agreed  to 
go  to  Catalina  on  the  following  Tuesday. 

A  word  with  regard  to  ' '  Santa  Catalina  Island  ' '  to 
which  our  friends  were  going,  will  be  necessary  for 
some  of  our  readers.  Fifty  years  after  Columbus 
made  his  first  voyage  to  America,  Cabrillo,  a  Spanish 
navigator,  discovered  what  is  now  the  chief  sea-side 
resort  off  the  Pacific  Coast.  When  it  was  first  discov 
ered  it  was  densely  populated  with  the  aboriginees. 
These  were  gradually  driven  from  their  island  homes 
by  adventurers,  freebooters  and  pirates.  The  full,  true 
history  of  the  islands  never  has  and  never  will  be  writ- 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SKA.  315 

ten.  Truth  is  always  stranger  than  fiction.  It  is 
especially  so  with  the  events  that  have  occurred  on  and 
around  these  islands  for  the  last  four  hundred  years. 

The  largest  of  the  group  of  these  islands  off  the 
coast  is  the  one  already  referred  to,  namely,  "Santa 
Catalina,"  as  the  old  Spaniards  named  it.  It  num 
bers  about  55,000  acres  of  mountain  land,  with  here 
and  there  a  little  valley  among  the  hills.  The  hunt 
ing  is  excellent.  Quail  abound.  The  wild  goat, 
almost  as  sure  footed  and  daring  as  the  chamois,  lives 
in  the  mountain  fastnesses.  He  loves  to  poise  upon 
the  highest  cliffs  that  overlook  the  deep,  blue  sea. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  hunting,  it  is  excelled 
by  the  fishing.  It  has  been  well  said,  that  the  bay  at 
Avalon  is  the  fisherman's  paradise.  This  is  the  home 
of  the  black  sea-bass,  or  Jew-fish,  as  it  is  sometimes 
called.  It  attains  a  weight  of  five  hundred  pounds 
and  is  one  of  the  gamiest  fishes  of  the  Pacific.  Here 
also  the  ordinary  fisherman  can  take  with  hook  and 
line  the  yellow-tail,  the  salmon  of  Southern  California. 

The  sail-boat  that  rides  the  usually  calm  sea  off  the 
shores  of  Avalon,  (the  town  in  the  pretty  pocket  of 
the  mighty  hills, )  carries  its  occupants  over  a  perfect 
fairy  land,  from  fifty  to  three  hundred  feet  below  the 
surface  of  the  waters.  The  mosses  and  other  plants 
wave  in  graceful  bends  above  the  rocks  and  earth  to. 
which  they  cling.  Among  them  glide  the  fishes  of 
every  hue  and  size.  On  a  calm  day,  and  the  days  are 
nearly  always  calm  here  in  summer  and  winter,  the 
boatman  can  see  this  fairy  land  without  any  effort 


316  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

whatever.  The  sight  once  seen  is  never  forgotten. 
We  cannot  speak  of  all  the  attractions  of  Santa 
Catalina.  The  famous  ancient  quarry,  the  Indian 
town-sites,  Clear  Water  Canon,  the  Indian  Cavern, 
and  many  other  places  on  the  island  are  every  year 
visited  by  hundreds.  The  bathing  in  the  bay  is  all 
that  can  be  wished  in  summer '  and  in  winter.  It  is 
therefore  no  surprise  that  our  friends  desired  to  make  a 
trip  to  this  wonder-land. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  as  planned,  they  took  the 
train  in  the  city  of  Los  Angeles  and  in  about  five 
hours  they  disembarked  on  the  wharf  at  Avalon.  The 
actual  voyage  by  steamer  occupied  them  only  three 
hours.  The  waters,  like  those  of  the  British  Channel, 
have  a  peculiar  tendency  to  make  one  feel  as  though 
he  were  spinning  with  the  rapidity  of  a  top,  when  he 
is  in  reality  sitting  quietly  on  deck,  wishing  that  he 
would  have  stayed  at  home.  Of  course  the  entire  party 
was  sick.  Even  the  grave  and  dignified  doctor,  who 
knew  so  much  about  the  different  medicines  good  for 
sea-sickness,  paid  his  first  compliments  to  the  great 
deep.  He  attributed  their  sickness  to  their  exposure 
and  irregular  meals  when  on  their  mountain  trip.  No 
doubt  that  was  one  cause,  but  whatever  was  the  cause, 
the  remedy  which  never  fails,  was  stepping  on  the 
shore.  When  the  passengers  are  sick  this  is  always 
the  most  pleasant  part  of  the  voyage.  It  was  so  in 
this  case.  What  cared  they  for  the  flying  fish  that 
rose  and  fell  out  of  and  into  the  blue  seas  over  which 
they  were  being  borne !  What  cared  they  for  the  fact 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA.  317 

that  every  now  and  then  a  little  fountain  rose  out  of 
the  bosom  of  the  waters  and  showed  where  a  whale 
was  sporting  in  briny  deep !  They  were  glad  when  the 
voyage  was  ended,  as  sea-sick  people  are  always  glad. 
We  cannot  dwell  upon  the  experiences  of  the  little 
« party  during  their  brief  stay  on  the  island.  We  can 
not  tell  of  all  the  fun  they  had  in  pulling  out  from 
their  native  elements  the  "  strange,  astonished- look 
ing,  angle-faced,  dreary-mouthed,  gaping  wretches  of 
the  sea,"  that  had  "  gulped  salt-water  everlastingly." 
In  the  case  of  our  party,  as  is  generally  the  fact, 
though  they  had  been  very  sick,  they  had  gotten  over 
their  illness  soonest,  and  became  passionately  fond  of 
the  water.  The  doctor  had  learned  to  row  some  years 
before  on  the  Schuylkill,  when  he  was  attending  the 
university.  He  was  out  of  practice,  but  soon  became 
familiar  with  the  oars  again.  Carrie's  hero  knew  how 
to  swim  and  row  and  sail.  He  had  learned  on  lake 
Michigan.  The  girls  enjoyed  the  trips  they  made  in 
the  small  boats  quite  as  well  as  those  they  made  by 
land.  They  had  heard  of  Pebbly  Beach,  and  the  day 
after  their  arrival  they  visited  ft.  The  water  was 
calm,  and  they  found  no  trouble  in  landing.  They 
spent  the  greater  part  of  the  forenoon  there,  and 
resolved  to  visit  it  again  before  they  would  return  to 
the  city.  Considering  the  brevity  of  their  intended 
stay  on  the  coast,  they  felt  that  they  would  better 
come  that  very  evening.  The  afternoon  was  spent 
pleasantly  enough  in  climbing  the  hill  which  over 
looked  the  beach  which  they  intended  to  visit  that 


318  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

evening.  They  realized  that  it  would  be  next  to  im 
possible  to  climb  the  rock  which,  when  the  tide  was 
high,  was  buried  at  its  base  in  the  sea.  There  are  a 
number  of  paths,  which  by  daylight  lead  the  pedes 
trian,  or  rather  climber,  from  the  hill  to  the  town 
which  nestles  at  its  base.  At  night,  however,  it  is 
difficult  to  find  these  paths,  and  to  keep  in  them  when 
they  are  found.  We  mention  these  facts,  because 
they  will  enable  the  reader  to  understand  subsequent 
events. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  (as  we  sometimes  say, 
but  there  is  really  no  such  thing  as  luck,  we  solemnly 
believe,)  Jennie  Dives  became  ill  towards  evening,  and 
could  not  go  on  the  proposed  voyage, — a  thing  she 
very  much  regretted.  Carrie  was  very  anxious  to 
revisit  the  place.  The  hero  was  willing  to  accompany 
her  because  he  wished  to  declare  once  and  forever  his 
love  for  the  girl  who  had  already  come  to  form  a  part 
of  his  very  life.  Dr.  Burns  knew  that  some  one  must 
remain  with  Jennie,  who  was  just  ill  enough  to  be  too 
sick  to  try  a  boat  ride.  He  knew,  too,  that  he,  being 
a  physician,  was  tifce  very  person  who  should  remain 
near  enough  to  the  girl  to  attend  her  should  she  need 
his  services.  But  he  wished  to  go  with  Carrie.  He 
wanted  to  tell  her  that  the  position  as  queen  of  his 
home  and  heart  was  still  open.  He,  too,  wished  to 
decide  his  fate  with  the  girl,  who,  since  he  had  met 
her  black- eyed  cousin,  was  not  as  pretty  as  she  had 
seemed  a  few  weeks  before.  We  do  not  say  that  he 
had  lost  his  love  for  her;  but  we  do  say  that  he  con- 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA.  319 

fessed  in  his  heart  that  Jennie  was  almost  as  sweet  a 
girl,  and  even  prettier  than  Carrie.  Carrie's  nature 
was  more  decided.  She  was  stronger  in  every  way. 
A  man  who  once  really  loves  a  woman,  will  love  her 
forever,  provided  he  has  the  slightest  hope  of  winning 
the  object  of  his  affections.  Though  when  he  finds 
his  affections  have  been  misplaced,  he  reluctantly 
transfers  them  to  another  and  more  worthy  object.  It 
was  so  with  Dr.  Burns,  although  he  did  confess  to 
himself  that  Jennie  might  be  to  him  equally  dear;  he 
was  at  that  point  where,  should  Carrie  refuse  to  accept 
his  hand  and  heart,  he  would  see  new  beauty  and 
loveliness  in  Jennie. 

Because  Dr.  Burns  wished  to  decide  his  fate  he  was 
anxious  to  accompany  Carrie.  He  was  cruel  enough 
to  her  hero  to  whom  Carrie  was  all  and  in  all,  and  who 
felt  that  if  he  would  be  spurned  in  his  offer  of  heart 
and  hand  to  Carrie,  he  would  never  love  another 
woman, — he  was  cruel  enough  to  this  man  to  propose 
that  they  pull  sticks  as  to  who  was  to  stay  with  Jennie. 
He  made  this  proposition  in  the  presence  of  the  girls. 
Jennie,  without  a  murmur,  thought  it  a  happy  idea. 
She  cut  the  sticks  and  held  them  in  her  hand.  Carrie 
shook  her  head  in  disapproval  toward  her  hero,  who 
gave  her  an  appealing  look.  But  even  whilst  they 
were  deciding  not  to  submit  to  the  Doctor's  proposition 
that  the  man  who  drew  the  longer  stick  should  remain, 
he  himself  had  already  drawn  that  very  stick.  He 
threw  it  aside  with  a  feeling  of  disgust  which  he  illy 
concealed.  Of  course  Carrie's  hero  was  pleased.  He 


32O  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

did  not  make  much  attempt  to  conceal  his  pleasure. 
Doctor  Burns  saw  this  and  felt  provoked  at  himself 
that  he  had  made  the  proposition. 

They  were  standing  on  the  beach  when  the  doctor 
pulled  his  stick.  Carrie  and  her  hero  immediately 
stepped  into  the  row-boat  and  pushed  off,  promising  to 
be  back  in  two  hours.  It  was  not  quite  six  yet,  and 
they  would  have  ample  time  to  return  before  dark. 

Jennie  and  the  doctor  stood  on  the  beach  watching 
them  as  they  went  first  directly  toward  the  L,os  An 
geles  coast.  They  went  so  far  in  this  direction  that 
Jennie  and  the  Doctor  thought  that  they  were  either 
fooling  them  or  had  changed  their  minds.  The  hero 
rowed  out  so  far  in  order  that  he  might  entirely  clear 
the  rocky  head-land,  and  then  row  south  until  he  got 
opposite  the  beach  they  intended  to  visit.  This  was 
wise,  because  the  tide  was  coming  in,  and  the  sea  was 
rather  rough.  When  at  last  the  boat  turned,  Carrie 
waved  her  handkerchief  in  a  final  adieu,  and  they  were 
soon  lost  to  view.  The  Doctor  and  Jennie  turned  and 
walked  to  the  hotel.  They  ascended  the  stairs  and  sat 
on  the  balcony  on  the  second  floor,  upon  which  the 
girls'  rooms  were  located.  Jennie  soon  excused  her 
self  and  the  Doctor  went  to  the  reading-room. 

The  Doctor  took  from  his  pocket  a  little  book  and 
began  to  read.  He  read  quite  a  while  and  then  he 
strolled  down  to  the  beach.  A  number  of  boats  came 
in  whilst  he  was  standing  there;  but  his  friends  were 
not  in  the  number.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and 
time  for  them  to  come.  He  almost  envied  the  hero 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA.  321 

when  he  thought  that  he  might  even  then  be  pouring 
out  his  heart  at  Carrie's  feet.  The  sea,  he  noticed, 
was  rougher  than  it  had  been  the  previous  evening. 
Turning  to  the  man  who  had  the  boats  in  charge,  he 
asked  him  whether  the  water  was  not  a  bit  rough  ? 
He  replied  that  it  was  decidedly  so.  Then  he  told 
him  that  two  of  his  friends  had  gone  to  Pebbly  Beach, 
whether  it  were  possible  for  him  to  walk  along  the 
shore  until  he  got  there  ?  The  man  told  him  that  it 
was  not  possible  in  day  time  and  at  low  tide.  It  cer 
tainly  was  not  possible  at  night  and  when  the  tide  was 
running  as  high  as  it  was  that  night.  He  added:  "  If 
your  people  are  not  good  rowers  they  will  be  capsized. 
If  they  were  on  the  beach  an  hour  ago  already,  they 
will  not  be  able  to  get  their  boat  out  on  account  of  the 
breakers.  If  they  are  on  the  beach  now  they  will  stay 
until  morning.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  climb  the 
head-land  and  walk  back  to  Avalon  for  persons  that 
are  not  better  acquainted  than  your  people  evidently 
are.  If  they  do  not  arrive  before  eleven  o'clock,  then 
come  to  me  and  report." 

The  doctor  returned  to  the  reading-room  in  deep 
study.  What  would  he  do  to  help  them  in  case  they  need 
ed  his  help  ?  If  they  were  on  the  beach  it  would  be  next 
to  impossible  to  get  away.  Another  night  of  exposure 
might  mean  much  even  for  Carrie's  hearty  constitu 
tion.  If  they  were  in  the  boat — He  shuddered  at  the 
thought.  He  tried  to  read,  but  he  took  very  little  in 
terest  in  what  his  eyes  saw  on  the  printed  page. 
When  it  was  nine  o'clock  he  went  down  to  the  wharf 


322  BACK  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

once  more.  "My  friends  have  not  returned,"  he 
said  to  the  man  with  whom  he  had  had  the  dialogue 
an  hour  before. 

"You  cannot  do  anything  for  them.  They  are 
either  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  or  on  Pebbly  Beach  try 
ing  to  climb  the  bluff.  You  can  take  a  two  hours  walk 
and  swing  a  lantern  from  the  rock  and  tell  them  to  be 
brave  and  hunt  a  dry  spot  until  the  tide  goes  out," 
said  the  man. 

He  again  returned  to  the  hotel.  Would  he  waken 
Jennie  ?  Her  exposure  in  the  mountain  and  her  loss 
of  sleep  had  made  her  nervous  and  to  tell  her  that  her 
cousin  was  exposed  to  a  new  and  worse  danger  than 
the  one  they  had  shared,  would  be  more  than  she 
could  bear.  Might  they  not  even  now  be  locked  in 
each  others  arms  and  be  down  where  he  had  seen  the 
big  fish  swim  ?  But  the  hero  could  swim.  He  had 
floated  like  a  log  that  very  day  half  way  between  the 
shore  and  the  Sugar  I/saf  (a  high  rock  at  the  entrance 
to  the  harbor  at  Catalina)  without  any  effort.  It 
might  be  different  now,  in  the  big  waves,  with  a  help 
less  girl  in  his  arms.  This  trip  had  brought  them  some 
pleasure.  It  had  brought  him  little  else  than  disap 
pointment  and  anxiety.  He  wished  he  had  staid  at 
home.  He  would  go  down  to  the  beach  and  see  what 
could  be  done. 

The  man  told  him  he  might  organize  a  party  of 
searchers  to  go  by  land.  It  would  assist  the  strangers 
in  finding  the  village.  The  tide  was  now  full,  and  he 
himself  would  take  a  boat  and  row  to  the  beach  indi- 


AND  OFF  TO  THE  SEA.  323 

cated.  If  they  were  drowned  the  boat  would  in  all 
probability  be  there.  They  too  would  be  washed  up 
by  the  waves,  in  case  they  had  not  gone  down  too  far 
from  shore.  If  that  were  so,  the  boat  as  likely  as  not 
would  be  at  the  bottom  too.  He  would  have  cautioned 
them,  he  said,  if  he  would  have  known  that  Pebbly 
Beach  was  their  destination  so  late  in  the  day.  But  it 
was  too  late  to  talk  about  it  now.  Dr.  Burns  went  away 
from  the  shore  with  a  heavy  heart.  The  girl  he  loved 
was  without  doubt  no  more.  And  her  father!  He  had 
seem  him  wring  his  hands  when  he  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  young  man  now  with  Carrie,  wherever  that  might 
be,  when  he  lay  unconscious  after  saving  her  from  the 
run-away.  Why  had  she  not  died  then,  instead  of  now  ? 

When  the  doctor  came  to  the  hotel  he  told  the  night- 
clerk  what  had  happened.  The  latter  at  once  sum 
moned  one  of  the  waiters  who  knew  the  island 
thoroughly.  He  told  him  that  a, searching  party  must 
be  made  up  and  proceed  to  the  high  rock  to  see  if  they 
had  landed  and  climbed  the  steep  sides  which  was 
quite  possible  by  day,  for  persons  acquainted  with  the 
place.  Three  persons  armed  themselves  with  lanterns 
and  the  usual  bottle  of  stimulants,  should  they  find  them 
in  a  state  of  exhaustion.  The  doctor  insisted  that  he 
must  accompany  them. 

Just  as  they  were  ready  to  start  Jennie  summoned 
the  doctor.  He  went  to  her  room  and  found  her  dressed. 
She  said:  "  They  have  not  returned.  Something  has 
happened,  I  know.  I  dreamt  they  had  fallen  into  the 
sea,  I  saw  Carrie's  black  hair  float  on  the  top  of  the 


324  BACK  FROM  THK  MOUNTAINS. 

waves.  He  had  her  in  his  arm,  and  they  were  sinking. 
When  I  got  awake  and  found  that  Carrie  was  not  at 
my  side  in  bed,  I  knew  that  my  dream  was  true. 
They  are  drowned,  I  know  it.  Oh!  Doctor,  what  will 
we  do?" 

The  doctor  tried  to  soothe  the  girl  by  telling  her 
that  she  dreamt  so,  because  she  was  not  quite  well  her 
self,  and  that  the  hero  was  a  good  swimmer,  and  would 
not  let  Carrie  drown.  But  his  words  had  little  effect. 
He  told  her  that  three  men  were  waiting  for  him  down 
stairs,  and  that  he  would  accompany  them  to  search 
for  the  missing  friends.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
gained  the  girl's  consent  to  go.  She  feared  he  would 
be  lost  too.  With  their  lanterns,  the  four  started 
on  their  search.  But  they  had  not  gone  far  before  the 
man  who  rowed  to  the  beach  arrived  there.  He 
struck  his  light,  jumped  on  the  shore,  secured  his  boat, 
and  after  walking  along  the  shore  he  saw  their  boat 
bottom-side  up,  on  the  beach.  He  exclaimed,  "  As  I 
expected!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE. 

"  Our  dearest  hopes  in  pangs  are  born 
The  kingliest  Kings  are  crown'd  with  thorns." 

— Massey. 

We  have  seen  how  the  man  who  had  rowed  to  Peb 
bly  Beach  found  the  boat  in  which  Carrie  and  her  hero 
had  gone  forth.  The  oars  were  lying  one  of  them, 
not  far  from  the  boat,  the  other  had  been  cast  high 
and  dry  upon  the  shore  at  some  distance  from  the  boat. 
The  man  looked  carefully  along  the  beach  for  some 
signs  of  the  missing  couple.  He  could  find  no  traces. 
Either  the  boat  was  capsized  at  some  distance  from  the 
shore  and  the  two  went  to  the  bottom,  or  they  had 
swam  to  the  beach  and  gone  along  the  rocks  until  they 
gained  a  place  to  climb  the  mountain.  From  where 
the  boat  lay  the  latter  supposition  was  scarcely  prob 
able.  He  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  but  there 
was  no  reply.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  be  heard 
at  any  distance,  yet  he  thought  there  might  be  a  bare 
chance  that  they  were  close  by,  and  too  exhausted  to 
help  themselves.  Finally  he  embarked  and  rowed 
rapidly  toward  the  pier  at  Avalon. 

The  party  which  had  gone  overland  climbed  the 
hill  east  of  the  town  very  carefully.  They  waved  their 
lights  every  now  and  then  and  shouted.  Finally  they 

325 


326  A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE. 

arrived  on  the  top  of  the  bluff  which  overlooks  the 
sea.  The  man  in  the  boat  who  was  then  already  on 
his  way  home  saw  the  lights;  but  he  had  put  out  his 
own  light  and  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  He  did 
not  wish  to  mislead  those  who  were  searching  by  land. 

After  they  had  carefully  looked  along  the  bluff  and 
thrown  the  light  along  the  jagged  edge  to  make  sure 
that  the  waves  had  not  brought  their  dead  bodies  and 
cast  them  upon  the  cruel  rocks,  they  continued  their 
search  along  the  bluff.  They  descended  the  rugged 
sides  with  difficulty.  At  last  they  stood  beside  the  boat 
where  the  boat-keeper  had  stood  half  an  hour  before 
them.  They  too  looked  for  evidences  from  which  to 
form  an  opinion  as  to  what  had  become  of  the  people, 
or  where  in  all  probability  their  boat  had  been  cap 
sized.  There  seemed  but  one  conclusion.  They  were 
evidently  drowned.  The  boat  had  no  doubt  been  cap 
sized  some  distance  from  the  shore,  and  they  drowned 
in  deep  water.  They  felt  that  there  was  no  hope. 

Doctor  Burns  staggered  to  a  rock  and  sat  down 
holding  his  head  between  his  hands.  In  the  end  he 
thought  to  himself,  a  stick  no  longer  than  a  finger  had 
decided  his  destiny.  Carrie  and  her  hero  had  gone 
together,  and  together  they  had  found  a  watery  grave. 
How  was  he  to  tell  Jennie  that  her  dream  was  real 
ized  ?  They  were  indeed  drowned.  How  was  he  to 
break  the  news  to  Mr.  Dives,  that  the  idol  of  his  heart 
was  shattered,  that  the  light  of  his  Carrie's  eyes 
which  had  been  the  guiding  star  of  his  joy  ever  since 
his  wife  had  died,  had  now  forever  gone  out  ?  The 


A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE.  327 

doctor  was  unutterably  sad.  But  in  the  midst  of  his 
sad  thoughts  a  new  hope  arose.  It  came  so  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  to  him,  that  he  felt  that  some  un 
known  power  had  whispered  it  to  his  soul.  Rousing 
himself,  he  said:  "  Boys,  I  tell  you,  we  have  missed 
them.  They  are  not  dead.  They  climbed  this  hill 
three  hours  ago,  and  in  some  way  we  passed  them. 
Let  us  return.  We  will  find  it  so.  Depend  upon  it." 

One  of  the  searchers  said,  "  We  certainly  hope  you 
are  right;  but  we  fear  you  will  be  disappointed.  We 
will  go  back  now.  There  is  no  use  in  staying  here 
any  longer.  They  will  not  be  found  here  for  many 
days.  By  and  by  they  may  be  picked  up.  But  we 
will  not  walk  back.  Let  us  row  back."  They  carried 
the  boat  to  the  water.  They  adjusted  the  oars  and 
when  the  three  were  in,  the  spokesman  whom  we  have 
just  quoted  shoved  off,  and  they  were  soon  at  sea. 
The  tide  was  now  perceptibly  going  down  along  the 
shore  and  the  swell  was  no  longer  heavy.  One  pair  of 
oars  easily  managed  the  boat.  In  half  an  hour  they 
touched  land.  The  first  words  they  heard  as  they 
stepped  on  shore  was,  "  The  lady  and  gentleman  are 
here.  They  are  both  in  bed,  but  very  much  ex 
hausted.  They  came  half  an  hour  ago." 

On  the  edge  of  the  town  of  Avalon  there  is  a  fine 
residence.  It  is  really  part  way  up  the  hill,  and  the 
person  who  lives  there  has  a  splendid  view  of  the  town 
of  Avalon  that  nestles  in  the  little  vale,  and  of 
the  bay  and  the  sugar-loaf  and  rocky  headland  that 
forms  the  shelter  of  the  bay  to  the  northward.  On 


328  A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE. 

the  evening  to  which  we  allude  in  the  annals  of  this 
chapter,  the  man  who  lives  there  had  already  retired. 
He  was  awakened  out  of  his  sleep  by  a  knock  at  his 
door.  He  wondered  what  late  visitor  could  be  disturb 
ing  his  slumber;  but  he  raised  the  window  and  asked 
what  was  wanted.  The  voice  of  a  man  replied:  "A 
lady  and  a  man  have  met  with  a  great  misfortune. 
The  lady  is  perfectly  exhausted.  Can  you  let  her 
rest  a  little  while,  and  give  her  something  to 
strengthen  her  ? ' '  The  man  was  soon  at  the  door. 
When  he  opened  it,  he  saw  a  young  man  and  woman. 
The  woman  had  evidently  had  on  a  light  dress;  but  it 
was  stained  with  mud  to  the  very  waist.  Her  hands 
were  bleeding,  and  she  looked  the  very  picture  of  woe. 
The  young  man  who  supported  the  girl  clinging  to  his 
arm  was  also  very  muddy,  but  his  clothes  were  darker, 
and  his  plight  was  not  so  perceptible.  His  hands 
were  also  bleeding. 

They  were  ushered  into  the  house;  and  then  the 
man  saw  that  they  were  both  wet  from  head  to  foot, 
and  that  the  man  had  lost  his  hat.  Their  host  gave 
them  stimulants,  and  they  were  soon  much  stronger. 
Of  course  they  explained  why  they  were  in  such  a 
condition;  but  as  the  account  given  to  Jennie  and  the 
doctor  was  much  fuller  we  will  listen  to  that.  After 
they  had  rested  a  little  they  were  directed  to  the  hotel 
by  the  gentleman  who  had  received  them  into  his 
home.  As  soon  as  they  arrived  they  were  helped  to 
their  rooms.  Carrie  went  to  bed  immediately.  Her 
hero  who  had  but  one  suit  of  clothing  with  him  to  the 


A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE.  329 

island  was  compelled  to  do  the  same;  for  necessity 
demanded  that  his  clothes  be  cleaned  so  as  to  make 
them  fit  to  wear. 

Jennie  had  gone  to  the  beach  in  the  vain  hope  that 
the  boat  might  yet  bring  her  friends  to  shore.  She 
had  staid  there  until  the  boat-man  returned  from  his 
fruitless  voyage.  She  was  wringing  her  hands  in 
hopeless  agony  when  the  joyful  news  was  imparted  to 
her,  that  Carrie  was  in  her  room  and  was  inquiring  for 
her.  At  first  she  thought  that  she  had  been  brought 
home  dead,  and  that  they  were  trying  to  impart  the 
dreadful  news  to  her  as  gently  as  possible.  When  she 
opened  the  door  and  saw  Carrie  stretch  her  arms 
toward  her  from  the  bed,  she  rushed  into  the  embrace 
of  the  prostrate  girl,  and  almost  smothered  her  with 
kisses.  She  cried  and  laughed  alternately.  She  felt 
that  she  must  see  the  hero  as  she  had  learned  to  call 
him.  She  said  to  Carrie,  "Is  he  your  hero  still ?" 
The  girl  replied,  "He  is  the  hero  anew  to-night  as 
you  will  confess  when  I  tell  you  how  he  saved  me. 
He  always  will  be  my  hero, ' '  she  added. 

Dr.  Burns  soon  examined  his  fair  patient  in  the 
other  room.  He  found  her  respiration  normal,  and 
skin  cool  and  moist.  So  far  no  evil  consequences  had 
followed  her  long  tramp  in  wet  clothing  through  the 
night  air.  Her  hands  were  swollen  and  painful.  He 
did  all  he  could  to  make  her  comfortable.  He  did  not 
ask  her  to  tell  him  how  it  had  happened.  He  knew 
that  it  would  exhaust  her  to  try  to  narrate  the  terrible 
experience. 


330  A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE. 

Jennie  of  course  could  not  sleep  until  she  knew 
it  all.  L,et  us  listen  to  Carrie  as  she  tells  her  all  she 
passed  through  in  the  awful  voyage  and  return  over 
land  to  the  hotel:  "  We  went  out  pretty  far,  as  you 
saw.  As  long  as  we  went  against  the  sea  we  felt  no 
unpleasant  effects  from  the  swell;  but  even  when  you 
saw  us  turn,  the  boat  caught  a  little  water.  The  hero 
said:  '  We  had  better  go  back,  Carrie;  '  but  I  said, 
'  We  will  go  on.  If  we  come  back  now  they  will  laugh 
at  us.'  He  then  kept  the  boat  with  the  swell,  which 
seemed  to  be  getting  greater  every  minute.  When  we 
approached  the  shore  I  became  very  sea-sick.  I  beg 
ged  him  to  hurry  for  the  land.  He  said,  '  I  fear  the 
sea  is  running  too  high  to  land.  We  cannot  turn,'  he 
added,  'or  we  will  capsize.  Sit  perfectly  still.'  As 
he  said  this  a  big  wave  caused  the  boat  to  take  water. 
I  thought  we  were  sinking.  I  jumped  out  into  the 
water.  I  sank.  But  when  I  came  up  I  felt  that  the 
hero  clutched  my  arm.  He,  too,  had  jumped  out.  I 
was  excited.  I  don't  know  what  I  did,  but  he  says  I 
tried  to  catch  hold  of  him,  but  he  would  not  let  me. 
He  knew  we  would  both  drown.  He  seemed  to  be 
standing  in  the  water.  He  held  me  by  the  arm  and 
kept  my  head  from  going  under.  The  big  waves 
would  break  over  my  head.  It  was  so  dark.  Just  as 
I  felt  the  ground  under  my  feet  and  tried  to  stand  I 
was  upset.  That  was  the  last  I  knew  until  I  heard 
him  say  to  me,  '  For  God's  sake,  Carrie,  speak  to  me.' 
I  remember  asking  him  what  I  should  say.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  was  only  half  awake.  He  raised  me  to 


A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE.  331 

my  feet;  but  I  was  so  weak  I  could  not  stand.  I  then 
sat  down  on  a  stone.  Then  I  felt  the  water  come  to 
my  knees.  It  startled  me.  I  got  up  and  tried  to  walk 
backwards,  but  there  was  a  big,  high  rock  in  front  of 
me.  Then  I  felt  his  arm  around  me,  and  we  struggled 
along  the  high  rock  until  we  got  to  a  place  where 
we  could  stand  better;  but  even  then  the  water  came 
to  our  knees  every  time  a  breaker  came  in.  We  strug 
gled  on,  for  we  knew  that  we  would  drown  if  we  did 
not.  By  and  by  he  said,  '  Now,  Carrie,  we  must  climb 
this  hill  or  the  water  will  catch  us  and  we  will  never 
get  to  Colorado  again.'  I  was  so  nervous  I  could 
hardly  stand,  but  we  climbed  slowly  up.  When  at 
last  we  got  to  the  top  of  that  dreadful  hill,  we  rested  a 
long  time.  We  took  off  our  shoes  and  stockings  and 
wrung  the  stockings  so  that  they  would  not  get  so  cold. 
We  found  a  path  and  followed  it;  but  by  and  by  we 
got  into  the  scrub-oak.  It  was  so  thick  that  we  could 
not  stand  upright,  so  we  crept  on  our  hands  and  knees. 
That  is  the  reason  my  lawn  is  so  muddy.  There  were 
sharp  stones  and  thorns  in  the  path.  They  cut  our 
hands  cruelly.  My  hero  said,  '  Carrie,  I  know  that 
this  is  more  terrible  for  you  than  for  me,  but  I  cannot 
help  you  one  bit.'  Then  he  burst  into  tears.  I  told 
him  to  '  never  mind  my  hands. '  At  last  we  got  out  of 
that  terrible  little  woods,  and  we  were  able  to  stand 
again.  At  the  same  time  we  saw  the  lights  down  in 
the  town.  We  were  so  glad  that  we  both  laughed  like 
two  children.  It  was  rather  laughing  and  crying 
mixed.  They  say  the  bridge  between  a  smile  and  a 


332  A  TERRIBLE  EXPERIENCE. 

tear  is  short;  but  I  believe  that  there  was  no  bridge  at 
all  between  our  tears  and  smiles.  They  came  together. 
We  continued  our  walk  down  the  hill.  When  we  once 
struck  the  path  along  which  we  had  come  this  after 
noon  we  got  along  much  better. ' ' 

Here  Jennie  interrupted  her  by  saying,  "  Dear  me, 
I  think  that  path  was  steep  enough  that  we  went 
together  this  afternoon.  How  will  you  feel  to-mor 
row  ?  Don't  you  wish  you  would  have  staid  at 
home?" 

Carrie  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said:  "  No.  I  am 
glad  I  went. "  She  tried  to  smile;  but  two  big  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks  and  her  lips  that  had  elon 
gated  into  a  smile  broke  up  into  a  quiver. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

SAD  EXPERIENCES. 

' '  Sorrow  never  comes  too  late, 
And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies."—  Gray. 

Our  friends  had  resolved  to  return  to  the  city  of 
Los  Angeles  the  next  morning.  Jennie,  in  the  face  of 
the  greater  trouble  which  for  several  hours  she  felt  sure 
had  come  upon  her,  in  the  loss  of  two  of  her  friends, 
forgot  that  she  was  ill.  The  joy  which  filled  her 
when  at  last  she  was  clasped  in  the  embrace  of  her 
own  dear  cousin,  whom  only  a  few  moments  before 
she  thought  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  had  entirely 
cured  her.  The  doctor  had  no  more  concern  about 
her. 

It  was  different  with  Carrie.  She  fell  asleep  in  less 
than  an  hour  after  she  had  been  made  comfortable; 
but  her  sleep  was  broken  up  by  dreams  filled  with  dis 
torted  visions  of  the  awful  scenes  through  which  she 
had  passed  in  the  evening.  The  result  was  that  when 
morning  came,  instead  of  being  refreshed  by  her 
sleep,  she  was  very  weary  and  feverish.  The  prac 
ticed  eye  of  Dr.  Burns  told  him  that  the  worst  was 
not  yet.  He  counseled  them  to  get  ready  to  embark 
in  the  morning  steamer,  which  sailed  at  eight  o'clock 
for  the  main-land.  He  feared  that  if  they  diH  not  go 

333 


334  SAD  EXPERIENCES. 

then,  it  might  be  many  days  before  they  would  be  able 
to  do  so. 

Carrie's  hero  had  a  good  degree  of  vitality.  His 
experience  among  the  mountains  of  Colorado  had 
made  him  strong  and  wiry.  Though  he  had  not  lost 
his  clear  complexion,  he  was  darker  than  when  he  first 
came  to  the  land  of  great  rocks,  high  mountains,  and 
strong  winds.  Though  he  felt  weak  the  next  morn 
ing,  he  was  very  like  himself  as  he  rose  from  what 
had  been  to  him  a  comparatively  sleepless  couch.  The 
clothing,  which  had  been  taken  in  charge  by  one  of 
the  waiters  of  the  hotel,  had  been  cleansed,  and  the 
coat  and  vest  were  in  a  presentable  condition;  but  the 
pantaloons  were  hopelessly  ruined.  The  hero  had 
worn  them  through  on  both  knees,  and  they  were 
badly  stained  all  over  from  the  water  and  the  dry 
black  dust  which  he  had  gotten  upon  them  subse 
quently,  in  his  climbing  and  crawling.  Avalon  is  not 
famous  for  the  number  nor  for  the  size  of  its  clothing 
and  gents'  furnishing  establishments;  but  the  doctor 
had  succeeded  in  buying  a  pair  of  overalls  for  our 
friend,  and  with  these  and  a  new  straw  hat,  he  looked 
tolerably  decent.  He  was  ready  to  undertake  the 
return  voyage. 

Of  course  the  news  that  a  young  man  and  a  young 
lady  had  been  drowned  the  night  before,  off  Pebbly 
Beach  had  spread  through  the  little  village.  Not 
everybody  had  learned  that  the  party  had  not  really 
been  drowned  but  they  had  come  very  near  it  and  were 
going  to  leave  that  very  morning  for  the  city.  Those 


SAD  EXPERIENCES.  335 

who  had  learned  the  above  fa<5ts  however,  were  anx 
ious  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  handsome  girl  as  she 
was  reputed  to  be.  There  were  several  hundred  of 
the  idle  tourists,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  gossip, 
swim  and  fish  the  livelong  day,  at  the  warf  to  see  the 
party  off.  When  the  four  came,  Carrie  upon  the 
doctor's  arm,  and  Jennie  walking  with  the  hero,  the 
crowd  opened  to  allow  them  to  approach  the  steamer. 
The  voyage  to  San  Pedro  was  quite  pleasant. 
There  were  few  passengers  on  board  that  morning, 
and  those  did  not  feel  it  their  duty  to  quiz  and 
gape.  Carrie  took  a  state  room  and  lay  down 
and  fell  asleep  and  dozed  to  the  end  of  the  voyage. 
The  hero  remained  on  deck.  He  sat  alone  and 
reviewed  the  experiences  of  the  previous  night.  He 
confessed  to  himself  that  an  experienced  boatman 
would  not  have  tried  to  land  however  much  he  might 
have  been  entreated  so  to  do.  He  confessed  too  that 
he  did  not  know  how  to  put  to  sea  without  being 
swamped.  On  the  whole  he  confessed  that  the  trip 
had  been  badly  managed.  He  was  to  blame  for  obey 
ing  the  request  of  the  girl  to  undertake  the  trip  when 
he  knew  before  he  was  half  a  dozen  rods  from  the 
shore,  that  there  was  danger.  He  feared  that  the 
worst  was  not  over.  Carrie  confessed  to  him  when  he 
asked  her  as  she  went  to  her  state-room,  that  she  felt 
badly.  When  he  arose  and  went  to  her  she  was  still 
sleeping, ~  apparently  soundly.  The  sleep  he  thought 
would  be  better  than  all  the  medicine  Dr.  Burns  could 
give  her. 


336  SAD  EXPERIENCES. 

Jennie  and  the  doctor  were  conversing  in  low  tones. 
Our  friend  could  not  hear  what  they  were  saying;  but 
he  knew  that  they  were  talking  about  the  experiences 
of  the  previous  evening.  They  were  blaming  him,  he 
thought,  and  justly  so.  He  was  not  quite  right. 
They  were  talking  about  him  and  the  ill-fated  voyage, 
but  they  rather  commended  him.  They  felt  sure  that 
if  he  would  have  lost  his  presence  of  mind,  there 
would  have  been  no  one  to  return.  The  full  particu 
lars  of  how  they  lost  their  lives  would  never  have  been 
known  to  them  or  to  Carrie's  father,  to  whom  the  sad 
news  might  have  been  fatal.  The  doctor  thought 
that  it  was  barely  possible  that  Carrie  would  escape 
being  ill  from  the  exposure  and  the  strain  that  it  must 
be  to  her  nervous  system.  It  seemed  almost  a  miracle 
that  she  had  not  given  up  already.  "It  is  her  power 
ful  will  that  keeps  her  up,"  said  the  doctor.  "If 
that  were  you,  Jennie,  you  would  be  helpless." 

Whilst  she  was  talking  with  the  doctor,  the  latter 
took  her  by  the  arm  and  together  they  walked  to 
Carrie's  room.  She  was  still  sleeping  but  her  cheeks 
were  very  red,  and  her  breathing  was  quick  and  irreg 
ular.  The  doctor  took  her  hand  gently  in  his.  It 
was  dry  and  hot.  He  went  to  the  ice-water  and 
saturated  his  handkerchief  and  laid  it  on  her 
head.  He  asked  the  steward  whether  there  was  any 
aconite  to  be  had  on  board  the  vessel;  but  that  worthy 
informed  him  that  there  was  not.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  wait  until  they  got  to  shore.  He  could  pro 
cure  some  in  the  town  at  which  they  would  land  in 


SAD  EXPERIENCES.  337 

less  than  half  an  hour.  The  doctor  stayed  with  the 
girl  whose  sleep  had  changed  into  stupor,  and  kept 
changing  the  saturated  handkerchief  which  dried 
rapidly  on  her  hot  forehead. 

When  they  arrived  in  San  Petro  the  sick  girl  was 
taken  into  the  strong  arms  of  the  Doctor  and  carried 
to  the  cars.  When  he  raised  her  she  said,  "  Yes,  we 
must  both  drown  if  we  do  not  get  away  from  these 
horrid  rocks.  But  I  can  not  stand."  She  tried  to 
weep;  but  her  sobs  were  unattended  by  tears.  The 
Doctor  took  it  upon  himself  to  see  after  the  sick  girl. 
He  shoved  two  cushions  together  in  the  cars  and  laid 
her  upon  them,  making  a  pillow  of  his  coat  for  her 
head.  He  sent  the  hero  for  tincture  of  aconite,  which 
was  promptly  brought  and  promptly  administered. 
When  they  arrived  in  the  city  in  less  than  an  hour 
afterwards,  the  Doctor  again  picked  up  the  sick  girl 
and  carried  her  to  a  hack.  Again  she  said,  "  Yes,  we 
must  both  drown  if  we  do  not  get  away  from  these 
horrid  rocks.  I  can  not  stand." 

Of  course  it  was  a  surprise  to  the  Los  Angeles 
cousin  to  see  the  girl  brought  home  sick,  and  in  a 
fever.  The  sad  occurrence  was  soon  explained  to  the 
woman.  Carrie  was  put  to  bed,  and  the  doctor  went 
to  work  in  earnest  to  break  the  fever.  Her  tempera 
ture  went  up  in  spite  of  his  medicine.  We  will  not  try 
to  tell  our  readers  how  he  treated  the  case.  Two  days 
after  they  had  come  to  the  city,  the  doctor  held  a  con 
sultation  with  one  of  the  best  physicians  in  the  city. 
He  explained  that  it  was  not  because  he  considered 


338  SAD  EXPERIENCES. 

Carrie's  case  dangerous;  but  because  he  did  not  wish 
to  take  all  the  responsibility  himself.  The  first  even 
ing  they  were  back  in  the  city,  Dr.  Burns  himself 
wrote  a  letter.  The  following  is  a  copy: 


ANGELES,  CAL.,  6:  16,  '9-. 
MR.  DIVES,  * 

Dear  Sir:  — 

The  girls  and  your  book-keeper 

wish  me  to  say  that  they  would  like  to  prolong  their 
stay  another  week  or  ten  days.  Carrie  is  not  so  well. 
She  is  feverish.  We  were  to  the  sea-side  and  she 
probably  staid  in  the  water  too  long.  This,  together 
with  the  unusual  experiences  through  which  we  have 
all  passed,  causes  her  to  be  indisposed. 

Very  Truly, 

DR.  BURNS." 

The  Doctor  had  told  the  truth;  but  he  had  not  told 
the  whole  truth.  He  explained,  that  if  the  case  should 
become  serious  he  would  telegraph  at  once.  He  did 
not  wish  to  distress  her  kind  father's  heart  unneces 
sarily.  He  did  not  anticipate  anything  serious.  It 
was  only  the  nervous  strain,  the  exposure,  and  the 
salt  water,  he  hesitatingly  added,  which  she  had  swal 
lowed,  that  was  causing  the  trouble.  Nature  would 
assert  herself  in  a  few  days.  Whatever  Dr.  Burns 
might  say  with  regard  to  the  fact  that  Carrie's  case 
was  simple  and  without  any  apparent  danger,  his 
actions  belied  his  words.  He  was  anxious.  Jennie 
knew  it  and  so  did  the  hero. 

The  letter  had  been  mailed  to  Mr.  Dives  on  Friday 

4 


SAD  EXPERIENCES.  339 

evening.     On   the   following  Tuesday  the  following 
dispatch  was  sent  to  Carrie: 
"  DEAR  DAUGHTER: — 

Must  have  the  hero  immediately.     All 
come  if  possible.     Sambo  sick.     Lovingly, 

YOUR  FATHER." 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  The  hero  must  go 
at  once.  He  could  not  go  that  day  anymore;  but  in 
the  morning  at  seven  he  would  be  off.  It  was  his  last 
night  with  Carrie.  He  would  watch  with  her  alone. 
It  would  be  some  relief  to  Jennie  and  the  rest  to  get  a 
solid  night's  sleep.  The  Doctor  consented.  The 
hero  staid'  alone  with  the  girl.  All  that  night  he  and 
his  sorrow  watched  by  the  fever-stricken  girl.  How 
he  longed  to  have  her  speak  to  him  but  one  rational 
word,  give  him  but  one  rational  look.  Once  he  took 
both  her  hands  in  his  and  whispered  into  her  ear, 
11  Carrie,  do  you  not  know  me." 

She  answered,  "  Yes,  I  know  you."  She  really  was 
conscious,  he  thought,  and  a  thrill  of  pleasure  passed 
over  him.  He  was  about  to  ask  her  another  question, 
but  the  fact  that  she  knew  him,  that  her  mind  was 
lucid,  had  been  such  a  happy  surprise,  that  his  intel 
lect  now  struggled  to  express  in  a  word  the  dearest 
sentiment  of  his  heart.  As  the  bird  long  caged,  sud 
denly  sees  the  door  of  its  cage  swung  open,  inviting  it 
to  soar  in  freedom  to  its  mates,  sits  paralyzed  with  the 
possibilities  unimproved,  until  the  hand  of  its  captor 
shuts  the  door,  and  it  remains  a  helpless  prisoner, 
so  the  pent  up  affections  of  our  friend  saw  in  Carrie's 


34°  SAD  EXPERIENCES. 

"Yes,  I  know  you,"  an  opening  through  which  the 
intense  longing  of  his  heart  might  enter  the  girl's 
soul;  but  he  waited  too  long  to  frame  the  thoughts  of 
his  heart  into  words.  Before  he  could  speak,  she 
added:  "Yes,  we  must  both  drown,  if  we  do  not  get 
away  from  these  horrid  rocks.  But  I  can  not  stand." 
The  she  began  to  sob.  He  knew  well  that  language. 
It  had  been  among  the  first  words  she  had  spoken 
when  he  was  bending  in  helpless  agony  over  her  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliff.  The  tears  fell  silently  upon  the  face 
of  the  girl,  as  he  raised  his  head.  Rapidly  the  hours 
of  the  night  of  watching  passed  away.  The  nurse 
that  sits  and  watches  by  the  bed  of  suffering,  counts 
in  weariness  the  hours  of  the  night  as  the  clock  tells 
them  one  by  one.  To  the  hero  the  passing  of  each 
hour,  as  it  was  announced  by  the  solemn  old  clock 
that  stood  in  the  hall  below,  fell  upon  his  ears  as  does 
the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock  on  the  felon's  cell, 
when  the  day  of  execution  is  at  hand.  It  seemed 
*almost  like  dying  to  leave  the  girl  he  so  tenderly  loved 
behind  him.  Would  he  ever  see  her  alive?  The 
thought,  as  it  came  and  came  again  all  that  night,  filled 
him  with  a  nameless  dread.  He  would  not  have  had 
the  question  answered,  though  the  oracles  of  heaven 
opened  their  mysteries  to  him,  for  fear  that  the  answer 
might  be  what  he  dreaded.  Promptly  at  six  and  a  half 
o'clock  the  hero,  in  the  presence  of  them  all,  took  the 
girl's  hand  in  his  and  then  let  it  slide  out  of  his  grasp. 


CHAPTER  XI,. 

SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD. 
"  God's  finger  touched  him  and  he  slept." — Tennyson. 

The  reader  may  think  it  strange  that  our  friend 
should  have  been  willing  to  leave  the  girl  he  loved, 
when  she  was  so  ill;  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
she  was  not  his  wife.  He  was  in  the  employ  of  her 
father,  and  to  him  he  owed  the  first  duty.  He  had 
been  telegraphed  for  and  it  was  necessary  that  he  go 
immediately.  Jennie  had  promised  to  telegraph  him 
every  day  in  case  Carrie  got  worse.  If  she  improved 
she  would  not  telegraph ;  but  she  would  write  him  a 
few  lines  each  day  stating  whether  she  was  improving 
rapidly.  The  doctor  told  him  that  there  was  no  rea 
son  to  suppose  that  the  fever  would  not  leave  her  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  come.  If  she  would  have  taken  pneu 
monia  it  would  be  different;  but  so  far  as  he  could  tell 
there  was  no  organic  disease. 

If  she  was  worse  he  was  to  receive  his  first  message 
at  The  Needles.  He  was  very  anxious  to  see  whether 
there  would  be  a  message.  When  the  train  arrived  at 
the  place  nearly  twenty-four  hours  after  leaving  I,os 
Angeles,  he  eagerly  rushed  into  the  telegraph  office  and 
inquired  whether  there  was  a  dispatch  for  him.  The 
operator  without  making  a  reply  handed  him  a  tele- 

34i 


342  SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD. 

gram.  He  trembled  so  violently  when  he  walked 
away,  and  fumbled  so  nervously  to  open  it  that  the 
operator  who  was  watching  him,  called  after  him, 
"Good  news,  my  friend.  Don't  borrow  trouble." 
He  felt  as  if  a  great  weight  were  rolled  off  his  heart. 
He  tore  it  open  and  read,  "  Carrie  is  much  better  this 
morning.  She  asked  where  you  were." 

He  turned  toward  the  window  of  the  office,  and 
said  to  the  operator,  "lam  very  much  obliged." 
That  person  was  attending  to  some  other  business  and 
paid  no  attention  to  him;  but  the  hero  was  just  as 
happy.  The  dispatch  had  made  him  so  happy  that  he 
was  entirely  different  from  what  he  had  been  the  day 
before.  He  talked  to  everybody  he  met.  Those  who 
had  noticed  his  demeanor  the  day  before,  thought  at 
first  that  he  had  taken  more  than  coffee  for  his  break 
fast.  It  is  ever  so.  The  greatest  joy  is  born  fre 
quently  of  deepest  sorrow.  Trouble  is  but  the  servant 
of  happiness.  He  often  goes  before  to  prepare  the 
heart  to  enter  for  happiest  realizations.  On 
the  other  hand,  sometimes  sorrow  comes  back 
to  the  heart  that  has  just  entered  joy,  as  the  clouds 
come  over  the  face  of  the  sun,  when  she  has  just 
broken  into  smiles  of  light.  It  was  so  with  our  friend's 
sorrow.  Though  the  cloud  had  lifted  and  the  sun  of 
joy  was  shining  in  his  soul  and  he  rested  well  the  fol 
lowing  night,  the  morning  brought  a  cloud.  At 
Trinidad  he  received  another  message  which  read, 
"  Carrie  is  worse;  but  say  nothing  to  her  father.  Un 
less  she  becomes  serious  I  will  not  again  telegraph." 


SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD.  343 

How  he  longed  to  ask  just  how  she  was;  whether  her 
fever  was  worse  or  whether  it  was  broken,  and  the  ex 
treme  weakness  wrhich  he  felt  sure  would  come  upon 
her  when  she  again  became  conscious,  had  come  to 
her  ?  He  could  only  sit  and  think  all  that  day. 

When  he  got  to  the  little  station  to  which  we  have 
so  often  come  with  the  Dives  and  their  friends,  it  was 
almost  dark,  and  there  was  no  one  to  meet  him. 
There  was  no  telegram  to  tell  him  that  Carrie  was 
worse.  This  in  itself  was  a  joy.  He  resolved  to 
walk  to  the  stone  house  that  evening,  though  he  knew 
that  there  was  no  moon.  He  got  his  supper  at  the 
little  hotel  and  started. 

When  he  arrived  it  was  long  after  dark,  and  the 
house  was  quiet.  There  was  one  light  and  that, 
strange  to  say,  was  in  the  parlor.  He  would  go  to  the 
parlor  and  make  his  arrival  known.  Mr.  Dives  must 
have  friends  there.  But  whom  could  he  be  entertain 
ing  in  the  parlor  when  Carrie  was  not  at  home  ?  Why 
did  he  not  have  them  in  the  office  ?  All  of  Mr.  Dives' 
friends  who  had  come  to  see  him  since  he  was  in  his 
employ  had  always  come  on  business.  He  would  not 
invite  them  to  the  parlor  even  when  Carrie  was  home 
unless  the  trains  compelled  them  to  stay  all  night. 
These  thoughts  passed  through  his  brain  almost  as 
rapidly  as  does  thought  fly  when  on  the  wings  of  a 
dream.  He  arrived  at  the  door.  He  knocked.  There 
was  no  response.  Mr.  Dives  had  lit  the  light  because 
he  expected  him  or  the  doctor  to  come  and  announce 
the  arrival  of  the  party.  He  would  try  the  door.  As 


344  SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD. 

he  put  his  hands  on  the  knob  he  felt  the  soft  meshes 
of  cloth.  It  was  quite  dark  and  so  was  the  cloth.  He 
felt  that  it  was  tied  with  a  ribbon.  The  truth  burst 
upon  him.  It  was  a  crape!  At  the  same  instant  the 
little  sentence  in  Mr.  Dives'  telegram  flashed  across 
his  mind,  "Sambo  sick."  "Sambo  dead,"  he 
exclaimed  to  himself.  He  went  to  the  hall  door  and  rang 
the  bell.  The  house  in  which  the  Dives  lived  was  so 
arranged  that  doors  led  off  the  porch  directly  into 
the  parlor,  the  dining  room,  the  kitchen,  and  the  office. 
The  hall  door  was  between  the  parlor  and  the  dining 
room. 

Mr.  Dives  himself  came  to  the  door.  He  grasped 
the  book-keeper's  hand  at  the  same  time  asking,  "  Are 
you  alone  ?"  The  book-keeper  answered,  "Yes," 
and  at  the  same  instant  added,  "  Sambo  is  dead?  " 

"  Sambo  is  dead,"  solemnly  added  Mr.  Dives,  whilst 
a  big  tear  rolled  down  his  cheeks  and  was  followed 
by  another  and  another. 

The  book-keeper  thought  of  the  colored  boy,  and  of 
another  and  a  more  mutual  trial  which  he  must  share 
with  the  man  who  sat  before  him,  and  who  was  unable 
to  say  anything  for  several  moments.  When  he  did 
find  his  voice  he  inquired,  as  the  clerk  expected  he 
would,  after  his  own  child.  The  young  man  very  calmly 
told  him  their  experience  on  the  mountain  and  the 
greater  part  of  their  awful  calamity  at  Pebbly  Beach. 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  dispatches  he  had  re 
ceived  and  showed  them  to  Carrie's  father.  The  old 
gentleman  read  them  and  thought  a  while,  then  he 


SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD.  345 

» 

said:  "  No  doubt  good  medical  attendance  will  save 
Carrie's  life.  You  went  through  the  same  experience, 
and  here  you  are.  If  the  Master  wills  it  so,  she  too  will 
come  back  to  her  home,  alive  and  well."  Mr.  Dives' 
words  which  breathed  such  calm  confidence  in  his 
daughter's  ultimate  recovery,  inspired  new  confidence 
in  the  heart  of  her  lover.  He  turned  to  the  old  gen 
tleman  and  said,  ' '  Sambo  ?  ' ' 

"  Ah  Sambo,  he  alas,  is  dead."  More  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks,  but  he  told  his  young  friend  how  it 
all  came  to  pass  that  the  strongest  in  all  that  house 
was  now  stark  and  stiff  in  death.  The  very  day  that 
Carrie  and  he  had  escaped  so  narrowly  from  a  watery 
grave,  Mr.  Dives  sent  Sambo  with  the  spring-wagon 
to  the  station  to  bring  some  goods  which  had  been 
shipped  him  from  Denver.  Sambo  drove  the  same 
mustangs  which  so  nearly  caused  the  book-keeper's 
own  death.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had 
driven  them  alone.  Sambo  was  a  good  horseman.  He 
could  handle  a  team  quite  as  well  as  anyone  on  the 
ranch.  In  some  way  the  horses  took  fright.  They 
had  evidently  been  hitched  quite  awhile  and  when  he 
started  they  were  anxious  to  get  home.  The  track 
made  by  the  wheels  for  fully  a  hundred  rods  before 
the  accident,  showed  that  they  were  going  at  a  break 
neck  speed.  He  had  driven  on  the  bank  first  on  one 
side  of  the  road  and  then  on  the  other,  until  he  came 
4x>  the  very  place  where  the  book-keeper  was  thrown 
as  he  caught  the  runaways.  "  But,"  said  Mr.  Dives, 
' '  you  were  not  there  to  risk  your  life,  nor  was  there 


346  SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD. 

0 

anyone  else  there  to  save  the  boy  from  a  horrible  death. 
The  mark  of  the  wheels  show  that  the  one  horse 
must  have  been  on  the  bank  for  some  distance.  In 
stead  ot  crowding  the  other  one  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road,  the  left  one,  to  save  himself  from  turning 
too  short,  must  also  have  jumped  up  on  the  bank, 
which  of  course  knocked  the  one  on  the  right,  over 
the  high  bank.  The  wagon,  Sambo  and  the  one  horse 
went  down  to  the  creek.  The  other  horse  with  the 
collar  and  bridle  still  on  came  into  the  yard.  Jim 
happened  to  be  here,  and  he  mounted  Carrie's  sorrel 
and  rode  out  to  the  wreck.  He  found  the  wagon  and 
one  horse  lying  dead  against  the  big  rock  to  which 
you  once  alluded,  when  we  were  driving  along  there. 
You  said,  '  That  will  make  a  hard  bed  for  somebody 
some  day. '  Poor  Sambo  did  not  even  do  as  well  as  he 
might  have  done,  if  that  rock  would  have  become  his 
bed.  He  fell  to  the  bottom,  or  rolled  down.  When 
Jim  found  him  his  back  was  broken,  the  muscles  of 
his  neck  injured,  and  his  right  limb  fractured.  He 
was  also  injured  internally.  He  was  conscious  and  in 
great  pain.  Jim  could  not  get  him  up  alone,  so  he 
came  to  the  house  and  we  hitched  to  the  carriage, 
took  some  bandages  and  drove  out.  I  sent  Jim  on  to 
the  station  to  telegraph  for  the  doctor  who  has  taken 
Burns'  place  during  his  absence.  I  climbed  down  the 
bank  to  where  Sambo  lay. 

' '  The  first  words  he  spoke  when  he  saw  me  were, 
'  Oh,  Massa  Dives,  I's  don  for.  I's  neck  been  gone 
and  broke.'  Of  course  I  knew  that  his  neck  was  not 


SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD.  347 

broken.  I  tried  to  help  him  to  get  up,  but  he 
screamed  with  pain.  I  did  what  I  could  for 
him  until  Jim  came.  We  managed  to  get  him 
to  the  carriage,  and  took  him  home.  He  became 
unconscious  before  we  got  him  to  the  carriage,  and 
continued  so  until  yesterday.  The  doctor  came 
early  the  next  morning  after  the  accident.  He  ex 
amined  him  carefully,  then  shook  his  head.  He  tried 
to  bring  him  to  recognize  his  surroundings;  but  it  was 
no  use.  He  lay  nearly  a  week  before  he  could  go;  but 
I  hope  he  did  not  feel  any  pain,  although  he  did  groan 
at  times.  He  was  a  faithful  boy."  Mr.  Dives  wept 
silently  ''as  he  uttered  his  last  sentence.  The  book 
keeper  joined  him,  not  out  of  sympathy  but  because 
his  own  heart  bled. 

It  seems  sorrows  never  come  singly.  They  go  in 
flocks  as  do  the  birds  of  prey.  When  one  is  seen  it  is 
almost  sure  that  there  will  be  more.  Who  can  tell 
whether  the  air  will  not  be  filled  with  them,  before  the 
first  one  will  leave  ?  So  sorrows  go  in  bunches. 

After  awhile  Mr.  Dives  said,  "  We  will  bury  him 
to-morrow.  We  will  accompany  the  body  to  the 
Springs.  I  have  resolved  to  bury  him  on  my  own 
family-lot.  There  is  room  for  half  a  dozen.  The 
time  for  retiring  is  long  past,"  added  Mr.  Dives  as  he 
looked  at  the  clock  in  his  bed  chamber  where  they 
were  sitting.  It  was  twelve  o'clock. 
-  The  next  morning  the  family  carriage  was  out  early. 
Jim  did  duty  in  Sambo's  place.  An  undertaker  from 
the  station  came  and  put  the  boy  into  a  neat  coffin ,, 


348  SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD. 

and  together  the  little  group  of  mourners  consisting  of 
Hannah,  Mr.  Dives,  and  the  book-keeper  with  Jim  as 
driver,  proceeded  to  the  station.  There  the  corpse 
was  transferred  to  the  train  and  all  the  persons  men 
tioned  accompanied  it  to  Colorado  Springs.  When 
they  arrived  there,  short  services  were  held  at  the 
grave,  and  the  body  of  poor  Sambo  was  committed  to 
the  earth. 

We  have  not  yet  spoken  of  the  one  who  mourned 
the  deepest  for  the  dead  boy.  His  own  mother  was 
heart-broken.  Her  affection  for  her  boy  was  just  as 
pure  and  deep  as  that  of  Mr.  Dives  for  his  child.  He 
could  sympathize  with  her  when  he  thought  of  what 
it  would  mean  to  follow  his  own  daughter  to  the 
grave.  He  prayed  that  he  might  be  spared  that  sor 
row.  To  Hannah,  Sambo  was  all  and  in  all.  With 
his  life  went  out  all  the  joy  from  her  heart.  She 
returned  to  the  Dives'  kitchen  with  a  crushed  soul. 
She  did  her  work  as  before,  but  there  was  no  pleasure 
in  duty  or  in  the  commendation  which  Mr.  Dives  gave 
her  when  he  called  her  to  his  office  a  few  days  after 
the  funeral,  and  said,  "Hannah,  you  have  been  my 
faithful  servant  many  years.  You  shall  never  want 
food  or  clothing  whilst  you  live  in  my  family.  Wher 
ever  you  may  choose  to  go,  if  you  decide  to  quit  my 
home,  now  that  your  boy  is  gone,  my  blessing  and 
good  wishes  will  follow  you,  and  if  I  hear  that  you 
are  in  want,  my  hand  shall  not  be  closed  to  you.  If 
you  wish  to  go  to  seek  your  kindred  in  the  Sunny 
South  I  will  pay  your  expenses.  If  you  know  of  none 


SOMEBODY  IN  THE  HOUSE  IS  DEAD.  349 

to  seek,  then  remain  where  you  are.     Whether  you 
work   or  not  this  house  will  shelter  you. ' ' 

The  old  woman  burst  into  tears,  as  she  said,  "  Massa 
Dives,  whar  in  all  de  worl  will  I  fin  my  'lations? 
They's  all  dead  and  gon  sure.  I  has  nobody  in  de 
wide  worl  now  'cept  Miss  Carrie  and  you,  Massa.  I 
stay  till  I  dies,  then  you  'posit  my  body  in  a  grave 
side  of  Sambo  and  there  I  stay  'till  de  judgmen  day." 


CHAPTER 

"  CARRIE,  YOU  HAVE  NOT  ANSWERED  ME  THAT 
QUESTION. ' ' 

"  Reason  thus  with  reason  fetter; 
Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought,  is  better." 

Shakespeare. 

We  have  already  seen  that  Carrie  Dives  improved 
somewhat  the  same  day  that  her  hero  left  her  for  their 
home  in  Colorado.  We  saw,  too,  how  the  very  next 
day  she  was  worse  again.  Mr.  Dives  did  not  get  a 
letter  that  week  before  Saturday.  We  are  sufficiently 
interested  in  the  case  to  learn  just  how  she  felt  day  by 
day.  One  of  the  most  distressing  of  all  the  worries 
that  can  torment  us  is  to  know  that  a  friend  is  sick 
and  in  danger,  but  so  far  from  us  that  we  can  do  little 
to  help.  The  fadl  that  all  the  news  we  receive  is  stale 
and  entirely  inadequate  to  give  us  a  full  idea  of  the 
case,  is  still  more  distressing. 

When  Carrie's  hero  had  been  gone  nearly  ten  hours, 
the  fever  seemed  suddenly  to  have  spent  its  force. 
She  realized  for  the  first  time  since  her  return  to  the 
city  that  she  was  really  not  on  those  ' '  horrid  rocks. ' ' 
She  looked  about  the  room.  She  and  Jennie  had  slept 
in  this  room  when  they  were  in  the  cousin's  home,  be 
fore  they  went  to  the  sea-shore.  There  was  the  pic 
ture  of  a  Madonna  which  Carrie  admired  very  much. 
350 


"  NOT  ANSWERED  ME  THAT  QUESTION."  351 

Her  eyes  chanced  to  see  this,  and  she  at  once  seemed 
to  recognize  the  fact  that  she  was  back  in  the  city. 
She  saw  Doctor  Burns  sitting  in  front  of  the  window 
and  Jennie  close  by  his  side.  She  seemed  to  realize 
that  her  hero  ought  to  be  there.  Her  eyes  sought 
him  everywhere  in  the  room,  then  fixing  her  gaze 
upon  the  Doctor,  she  said,  ".Is  the  hero  sick  too?  " 
This  was  the  first  evidence  that  Jennie  and  he  had  that 
she  was  conscious.  They  were  soon  at  her  bedside. 
She  spoke  a  few  sentences,  but  seemed  very  weak. 
She  soon  fell  into  an  unnatural,  slumber,  or  rather 
stupor,  and  remained  in  that  condition  all  the  next 
day.  It  was  because  she  continued  in  this  unnatural 
sleep,  that  Jennie  sent  the  second  dispatch. 

Dr.  Burns,  who  spent  most  of  his  time  with  Jennie 
in  the  sick  room,  became  very  well  acquainted  with 
the  young  lady.  They  had  not  procured  a  nurse  for 
Carrie.  The  Doctor  and  the  two  ladies  took  their 
turns  in  sitting  with  the  patient.  The  Doctor  began 
to  be  convinced  that  all  that  was  the  matter  with  Car 
rie  was  the  nervous  prostration.  She  had  taken  cofd; 
but  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  keep  that  from 
going  to  her  lungs.  The  fever  by  and  by  would  leave 
her,  he  told  Jennie,  and  as  far  as  he  could  see,  there 
was  no  reason  why  they  should  not  be  ready  to  leave 
the  Golden  State  by  the  end  of  another  week. 

Carrie  Dives  was  getting  better.  Her  fever  was 
broken,  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  she  sat  up  a  little, 
and  took  nourishment.  The  Doctor  was  very  atten 
tive.  Carrie  felt  that  she  was  under  obligations  to 


352  "  CARRIE,  YOU  HAVE  NOT 

him  for  his  care  of  her  from  the  time  she  reached  the 
hotel  until  she  was  out  of  danger.  She  confessed  that 
she  did  not  know  how  serious  her  illness  might  have 
been  had  he  not  looked  after  her  so  assiduously.  Of 
course  the  news  had  been  written  to  the  father,  who 
loved  his  daughter  only  as  a  pure-minded  father  can 
love  his  only  child,  and  that  a  sweet,  true  girl  like 
Carrie.  They  in  California  and  the  father  in  Colorado 
had  conspired  to  surprise  the  hero  by  coming  home 
before  he  expected  them.  They  had  told  him  that 
she  was  out  of  danger,  but  still  weak.  He,  on  the 
other  hand,  did  not  think  that  she  was  as  well  as  she 
really  was. 

One  evening  when  Carrie  was  sitting  by  the  window 
in  the  same  pink  wrapper  which  she  had  worn  the 
morning  she  waved  her  hand  in  adieu  to  the  Doctor 
as  he  drove  away  from  the  stone  house,  the  Doctor 
came  into  the  room,  and  seeing  her  sit,  he  walked  up 
to  her  and  clasped  her  warmly  by  the  hand.  He  said, 
.4 '  Pardon  me,  but  really  I  must  say  I  have  not  seen 
you  look  so  handsome  since  you  came  to  the  veranda 
in  your  own  home  in  that  same  cunning  dress  and 
waved  me  a  good-by.  You  looked  like  a  mountain 
fairy  with  your  long,  black  hair  down  your  back." 
Then  drawing  a  chair  up  to  Carrie,  he  sat  down  beside 
her.  They  were  all  alone  in  the  house.  The  cousin's 
husband  had  returned  from  his  trip  the  day  before, 
and  he  had  taken  his  wife  and  Jennie  out  for  a  drive 
that  evening.  Carrie  was  of  course  too  weak  to  ac 
company  them. 


ANSWERED  ME  THAT  QUESTION."  353 

When  the  Doctor  had  seated  himself  he  again  took 
Carrie's  hand  under  pretence  of  feeling  her  pulse. 
He  still  had  her  little  hand  in  his  and  was  resting  two 
of  the  fingers  of  his  other  hand  on  her  pulse.  With 
out  a  change  in  his  countenance  he  looked  her  into 
the  eyes,  and  said,  "  Carrie,  you  have  not  answered  me 
that  question, — will  you  be  queen  of  my  heart  and 
home  ?  ' ' 

Carrie  did  not  flinch  under  his  searching  gaze;  but 
her  lips  quivered  as  she  said,  "Dr.  Burns,  you  have 
been  very  kind — "  The  effort  was  too  much,  she  did 
not  finish  her  sentence.  The  Doctor  thought  of  what 
Jennie  had  said  about  proposing  to  a  lady  when  she 
was  in  a  man's  power  and  under  special  obligation  to 
him.  He  realized  that  he  had  been  doing  that  very 
thing,  and  he  felt  ashamed  of  himself.  He  took  the 
little  hand  between  his  two  and  patting  it  gently,  he 
said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  should  not  have  asked 
you  to  answer  me  that  question  now.  Tell  me,  are 
you  engaged  to  anybody  else  ?  ' ' 

Carrie  looked  him  into  the  face  with  an  injured  ex 
pression.  She  hesitated,  then  she  shook  her  head 
and  said  nothing.  It  was  all  he  would  ask  her 
to  say,  the  Doctor  said;  "but,"  he  added, 
' '  please  do  not  tell  Jennie.  Will  you  promise 
me  that  ?  ' '  The  girl  nodded  assent  to  his  request. 
Just  then  the  folks  who  had  been  out  for  a  drive  came 
home.  The  Doctor  moved  his  chair  as  Jennie  bounded 
up  the  stairs  and  shouted,  "  How  are  you  now,  little 
cousin  ?  " 


354  "  CARRIE,  YOU  HAVE  NOT 

Carrie  replied,  "Very  tired,  dear.  I  guess  I  will 
go  to  bed.  To-morrow  I  hope  to  stay  up  all  day." 

The  Doctor  said,  "  Jennie,  I  left  you  some  powders 
to  give  to  your  other  self, "  as  he  frequently  called 
either  of  the  girls,  when  he  spoke  of  one  to  the  other. 
"You  give,  or  see  that  Carrie  takes  one  every  two 
hours  when  she  is  awake.  You  must  let  her  rest  now; 
so  come  and  take  a  walk  with  me;  you  have  been  out, 
but  I  have  not  been  out,  at  least  not  with  agreeable 
company."  So  Jennie  put  a  wrap  about  her  and 
together  the  two  walked  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  and 
then  entered  a  little  park  which  opens  upon  the  street 
on  which  her  cousin  resided  at  the  time.  It  was  get 
ting  dark,  but  the  evening  was  unusually  warm  for 
Southern  California,  and  the  Doctor  said  there  would 
be  no  danger  of  taking  cold,  if  they  would  sit  and  rest 
a  little  while.  The  atmosphere  of  the  park  was  rich 
with  the  perfume  of  roses.  The  palms  stood  quiet  in 
the  deepening  twilight,  as  if  trying  to  rest  their  great, 
fan-like  leaves  before  the  sea-breeze  of  another  day 
would  twist  and  toss  them.  All  was  quiet  save  the 
gentle  sound  which  the  spray  of  the  fountain  close  to 
them  made,  as  its  waters  fell  into  the  basin.  The  two 
felt  perceptibly  the  charms  of  their  surroundings. 
They  walked  to  one  of  the  seats  and  sat  close  together. 
For  several  moments  they  were  both  quiet,  as  if  they 
had  involuntarily  yielded  to  the  soporific  influence  of 
the  perfumed  air.  The  Doctor  broke  the  silence  by 
saying:  "  My!  Jennie,  would  not  this  be  a  capital  place 
to  make  love  ?  I  worifler  that  not  all  the  young  men 


ANSWERED  ME  THAT  QUESTION."  355 

and  maidens  in  this  city  come  here  to  breathe  out  the 
tender  tale  of  their  heart's  great  passion.  The  very 
air  is  soothing.  The  surroundings  are  so  quiet,  so 
suggestive  of  rest." 

Jennie  said,  "  Ix>ve  requires  the  perfume  of  the  rose 
and  lily.  That  condition  is  certainly  fulfilled  here; 
but  where  is  the  dove,  which  is  also  said  to  be  a 
requisite,  in  order  that  the  tender  passion  may  be 
stirred?" 

"How  poetic  you  are,"  said  the  Doctor.  "But 
really,  Jennie,  this  is  a  delightful  place  to  sit  and 
dream  by  day  and  by  night,  asleep  or  awake.  Sup 
pose  we  make  love.  I  will  say  to  you  that  I  love  you. 
Will  you  be  my  queen,  my  idol,  for  this  life  and  that 
which  is  to  come  ?  ' ' 

' '  Doctor,  do  not  talk  so  silly.  It  does  not  become 
you  to  make  light  of  the  most  sacred  passions  of  the 
human  heart." 

' '  Suppose  I  mean  it  ?     Can  I  not  tell  you  then  ?  ' ' 

' '  You  do  not  mean  it,  or  you  would  not  be  so  silly. 
'  They  love  indeed  who  quake  to  say  they  love.'  " 

"Jennie,"  added  the  Doctor,  "it  is  true,  I  have 
spoken  very  silly  words,  but  by  and  by  I  may  tell  you 
in  intense  earnestness,  at  least  in  substance,  what  I 
have  told  you  now.  What  will  you  say  then  ?  " 

' '  There  will  be  time  enough  to  tell  you  that  when 
you  speak  in  '  intense  earnestness,'  as  you  say.  Wait 
and  see  what  I  will  tell  you." 


356  "  CARRIE,  YOU  HAVE  NOT  ANSWERED  ME." 

So  they  talked,  as  young  people  will,  about  what 
they  expected  to  do  in  the  near  future.  The  Doctor 
of  course  told  Jennie  that  he  intended  to  buy  the  house 
in  which  his  office  was  then  already  located.  He  told 
her,  too,  of  the  changes  he  intended  to  make.  In  fact 
he  told  her  substantially  what  he  had  told  Carrie 
months  before;  but  he  did  not  ask  her  to  become  his 
"  queen,"  as  he  had  asked  Carrie. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A  GREAT  CRIME. 

"  A  man  who  has  no  excuse  for  crime  is  indeed  defenceless." 

— Bulwer  Lytton. 

The  first  of  September  came  in  due  time;  but  the 
cook  did  not  return  to  the  Dives'  home  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
There  was  good  reason  for  it.  Toward  the  close  of 
August  he  received  a  letter  from  Miss  Susie  Dives 
stating  that  the  house  would  not  be  opened  for  the 
present.  She  was  sorry  that  she  could  not  inform  him 
just  when  they  would  be  ready  to  again  enjoy  his 
culinary  art.  She  herself  had  been  summoned  to  Col 
orado,  and  would  not  be  back  for  at  least  a  month.  If 
he  wished  to  call  at  the  house  about  the  first  of  Octo 
ber,  he  could  do  so.  If  she  could  not  be  home  then, 
she  would  try  to  inform  him  beforehand.  She  added 
that  just  as  soon  as  she  knew  definitely  when  they 
would  again  occupy  the  house  she  would  let  him  know. 
They  had  appreciated  his  services  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  that  he  had  been  with  them,  and 
would  be  glad  to  continue  him,  provided  the  delay 
would  not  inconvenience  him.  Susie  Dives  had  failed 
to  inform  the  cook  why  she  was  going  to  Colorado. 
He  wondered  why  she  did  not  tell  him.  We  too  won 
der  why  the  girl  went  west  at  the  close  of  the  summer 
when  quite  the  contrary  was  planned.  We  will  not 

357 


358  A  GREAT  CRIME. 

for  the  present  follow  her  to  Colorado,  nor  will  we  now 
inquire  concerning  our  friends  whom  we  left  in  the 
chief  city  of  Southern  California. 

Oclavia  Newman's  affairs  require  a  word.  She  was 
at  length  relieved  from  her  long  and  weary  work  at 
the  bedside  of  the  English  lady.  The  dread  destroyer 
won  his  way  slowly  but  surely,  and  the  woman  finally 
succumbed  to  his  wooing.  After  the  lady  was  buried, 
Odlavia  went  to  her  room  in  the  home  of  the  Dives. 
She  had  been  given  a  key  and  could  go  there  when 
ever  she  saw  fit.  It  was  the  same  afternoon  that  she 
was  released  from  her  charge.  She  sat  down  quietly, 
and  with  hands  folded  in  her  lap  she  began  to  think. 
First  she  thought  of  the  letter  which  she  had  received 
from  Mr.  Sharp  the  day  before,  dated,  Omaha,  Ne 
braska. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  paper  which  Mr. 
Sharp  had  enclosed  in  his  letter: 

"  New  York,  Sept. ,  '9—. 

I,  Oclavia  Newman,  do  hereby  of  my  own  free  will 
empower  William  Sharp,  Esq. ,  to  receive  all  money  or 
monies  due  me.  I  fully  empower  him  to  act  in  my 
stead  in  every  capacity  which  my  business  in  my  ab 
sence  may  demand. 

Signed." 

But  we  must  not  anticipate.  We  were  watching 
Oclavia  as  she  sat  with  folded  hands  in  her  room  in 
the  home  of  the  girls  who  were  so  kind  to  her.  She 
thought  of  Mr.  Sharp's  letter,  so  full  of  anxious  solici 
tude  for  her.  It  breathed  so  pure  and  such  true  affec 
tion  for  her.  Yes,  the  happy  day  for  their  marriage 


A  GREAT  CRIME.  359 

would  soon  come.  Less  than  four  months  and  she 
would  be  the  happy  bride  of  one  of  the  smartest  law 
yers  in  his  profession. 

Finally,  Odtavia  pulled  out  her  watch  and  found 
that  it  was  six  o'clock.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  gloves 
to  go  for  her  dinner.  When  she  came  to  the  front 
steps  she  saw  a  rough  looking  man  running  from 
the  rear  of  the  house.  The  man  noticed  her,  and 
instead  of  stopping  or  saying  anything  to  her, 
he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  ran  with  all  his  might 
past  her  to  the  street  and  away.  Octavia's  curiosity 
was  aroused  to  see  what  he  had  been  doing  in  the  rear 
of  the  house  that  could  make  him  so  anxious  to  get 
away.  She  walked  back  toward  the  stable.  She 
knew  that  Felix  still  kept  his  room  up  stairs  not  so 
much  because  he  wished  to  be  economical  as  because  he 
wished  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  property  of  the  Dives 
during  their  absence.  She  thought  it  was  about  time 
for  the  young  man  to  be  at  his  room.  She  would  of 
course  not  pay  him  a  visit,  but  she  would  knock  at  his 
door  and  tell  him  of  what  she  had  seen. 

When  she  came  near  the  stable  she  saw  a  man  lying 
on  the  grass.  His  face  was  turned  upward.  His  eyes 
were  shut;  and  to  all  appearance  he  was  dead.  Odlavia 
always  prided  herself  in  her  strength  of  nerve  before 
she  was  ill.  She  had  recovered  from  her  sickness  now 
and  was  almost  as  strong  as  ever.  She  recognized  in 
an  instant  that  the  young  man  was  none  other  than 
Felix.  She  walked  up  to  him,  bent  down  to  examine 
his  heart  in  order  to  tell  if  possible  why  he  had  fainted. 


360  A  GREAT  CRIME. 

Then  she  noticed  that  his  right  side  was  blood-stained. 
She  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  vest  and  noticed  that 
there  was  a  cut  in  them  both  which  extended  through 
his  garments,  and  was  the  cause  of  his  bleeding.  She 
did  not  wait  to  see  whether  the  stab  had  caused  him 
to  faint.  She  knew  that  she  could  do  very  little  for 
him.  She  ran  to  the  house,  unlocked  the  door,  and 
ran  up  to  the  girls'  room.  It  was  locked.  She  had 
intended  to  telephone  for  an  ambulance.  When  she 
found  she  could  do  nothing  there  she  returned  to  the 
stable.  She  remembered  that  Susie  Dives  had  told 
her  that  Felix  had  telephone  communication  with  the 
house  and  the  city  as  well.  She  found  the 
doors  below  on  the  ground  entrance  open,  and  at 
the  head  of  the  narrow  stairs  which  led  to  his  room 
the  door  stood  wide  open.  She  saw  on  entering,  that 
things  were  in  a  litter,  and  that  the  young  man's  hat 
and  a  light  overcoat  lay  on  the  bed.  Evidently  he  had 
gone  out  at  the  call  of  the  person  who  had  assaulted  him. 
After  the  assault,  the  fellow  had  returned  to  the  room 
and  robbed  it  of  what  he  saw  fit  to  take  with  him.  We 
do  not  mean  that  Octavia  came  to  this  conclusion  at  a 
glance;  but  she  did  feel  sure  that  the  assault  had  been 
made  with  the  intention  of  robbery.  (We,  kind 
reader,  know  that  robbery  was  not  the  primary  intent 
of  the  villain.) 

Odlavia  rang  the  bdl  and  soon  was  placed  in  com 
munication  with  the  police  headquarters.  She  told 
the  man  at  the  telephone  that  a  robbery  had  been  com 
mitted  and  a  man  left  for  dead  at  —  Fifth  Avenue. 


A  GREAT  CRIME.  361 

He  should  please  send  an  ambulance  and  the  surgeon 
at  once.  After  this  she  went  down  stairs.  To  her 
surprise  she  saw  Felix  sitting  on  the  grass  looking 
about  him  in  a  dazed  manner.  Then  Octavia  saw  for 
the  first  time  that  there  was  also  a  gash  on  the  back 
of  the  young  man's  head.  She  got  water  and  washed 
the  back  of  his  head.  She  found  that  the  wound  on 
his  chest  still  bled.  She  told  him  to  take  a  deep 
breath?  He  made  the  attempt,  then  sank  back  in  an 
other  faint.  She  feared  that  the  wound  had  reached 
the  lungs. 

To  her,  waiting  by  the  silent  form  of  the  man,  it 
seemed  as  if  the  surgeon  would  never  come.  At  last 
she  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  ambulance.  She  went 
to  the  front  to  tell  the  officer  where  to  come. 

Mr.  Abraham  who  was  standing  on  the  door-step 
when  the  ambulance  first  passed  his  house,  was  of 
course  curious  to  see  where  it  went.  When  he  came 
to  the  front  pavement  and  saw  that  it  stopped  at  the 
Dives,  he  went  up  and  was  horrified  to  see  Felix 
brought  out.  He  rushed  to"  his  home  and  communi 
cated  the  sad  news  to  his  wife.  In  a  moment  she  too 
was  there.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Felix  was  car 
ried  into  the  home  of  the  Abrahams  instead  of  the 
hospital. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

MORE  DEVELOPMENTS. 

"  Let  guilty  men  remember,  their  black  deeds 
Do  lean  on  crutches  made  of  slender  reeds." 

—John  IfVebster. 

When  Felix  was  brought  into  the  home  of  the  Abra 
hams  the  police  surgeon  feared  that  he  had  received  a 
fatal  wound  in  the  chest.  He  was  carried  by  the  two 
officers  up  the  stairs.  The  doctor  found,  on  a  closer 
examination,  that  the  stroke  on  the  head  had  been  a 
severe  one.  The  skull  was  not  fractured,  but  the 
bone  was  laid  bare  for  several  inches.  The  blow  had 
evidently  been  dealt  by  some  heavy  instrument.  The 
doctor  next  carefully  probed  the  wound.  It  had  gone 
diagonally  after  striking  the  uppermost  rib.  He  felt 
certain  that  it  had  not  reached  the  lung,  as  he  at  first 
supposed. 

After  his  examination  was  finished,  he  applied 
restoratives  to  the  unconscious  form.  It  was  not 
many  minutes  before  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Felix  open  his  eyes.  Then  the  surgeon  dressed  his 
wound  and  told  him  to  remain  quiet  for  a  little  while. 
He  would  be  gone  for  half  an  hour  or  so;  then  he 
would  return  to  see  how  he  was  getting  along.  Mr. 
Abraham  now  wanted  to  ask  Felix  what  had  hap- 
362 


MORE  DEVELOPMENTS.  363 

pened;  but   the  doctor  forbade  him  by  saying  there 
was  time  enough  for  that  later. 

Abraham  was  invited  to  accompany  the  surgeon  and 
the  officer  back  to  the  home  of  the  Dives.  Octavia 
was  still  standing  on  the  porch  as  if  undecided  where 
to  go  or  what  to  do.  When  the  officers  and  Mr.  Abra 
ham  came  to  the  house,  she  asked  them  how  seriously 
the  young  man  was  injured.  They  surgeon  told  her 
that  he  thought  the  wound  was  simply  a  flesh  wound. 
That  which  had  caused  him  to  be  unconscious  was  the 
blow  he  had  received  on  the  back  of  his  head,  with 
some  blunt  instrument.  They  had  come  to  investigate 
the  premises.  Oclavia  accompanied  them  to  the  place 
where  she  had  seen  Felix  lying  when  she  walked  out 
to  the  stable  the  first  time.  The  officer  looked  about 
him,  and  found  in  the  grass  near  the  fence  a  piece  of 
an  iron  rod  about  a  foot  long.  The  end  of  the  rod 
had  been  coiled  around  itself  at  one  end.  It  thus 
formed  an  ugly  knob.  The  hair  of  Felix,  together 
with  a  little  blood,  proved  conclusively  that  it  had 
been  used  by  the  assailant.  They  could  not  find  any 
traces  of  the  knife  with  which  the  stabbing  had  been 
done.  Evidently  that  had  gone  when  the  rowdy  who 
had  used  it  went.  He  had  apparently  thought  that  he 
had  done  his  work  efficiently.  The  room  upstairs 
showed  that.  The  fellow  had  thoroughly  ransacked 
the  man's  trunk,  and  the  drawers  of  his  desk.  Some 
of  the  pockets  of  his  clothing  had  been  turned  inside 
out  in  the  hope  of  finding  something  worth  carrying 
away.  The  job  had  not  been  done  for  pleasure  only. 


364  MORE  DEVELOPMENTS. 

Octavia  described  the  fellow  who  had  evidently  done 
the  deed.  After  she  was  through,  the  officers  and  Mr. 
Abraham  left  her.  The  latter  invited  her  to  call  on 
her  friend,  who  he  said  would  receive  the  best  of 
care.  She  replied  that  Felix  was  no  friend  of  hers. 
She  had  simply  become  acquainted  with  him  at  the 
home  of  the  Dives,  as  she  had  become  acquainted  with 
the  other  servants  of  the  house.  Mr.  Abraham  said 
nothing.  He  simply  drew  his  upper  lip  between  his 
teeth,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  was  displeased. 

The  surgeon  accompanied  Mr.  Abraham  to  his  home 
in  the  hope  that  he  might  learn  a  little  more  concern 
ing  the  assault  which  might  have  cost  the  young  man 
his  life.  They  found  Felix  sitting  in  a  chair  when  they 
arrived  at  the  house.  The  doctor  said  to  him: 
"Young  man,  you  have  evidently  had  a  narrow 
escape.  Can  you  tell  us  how  it  happened?  " 

Felix  replied:  "I  had  just  come  from  my  dinner 
and  had  seated  myself  to  write  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
when  I  heard  a  loud  knock  on  the  door  outside.  I 
opened  the  window  and  saw  a  villainous  face  turned 
up  toward  me.  I  asked  what  he  wanted.  The  fellow 
replied  that  he  had  a  note  for  me  from  my  employer. 
I  asked  him  how  he  had  gotten  the  note,  when  he 
replied,  that  he  had  met  Mr.  Abraham  as  he  passed 
the  house,  and  he  asked  him  to  please  take  the  note. 
That  sounded  plausible.  I  went  down  stairs,  and 
when  I  arrived  in  front  of  the  door  he  handed  the 
paper  to  me,  saying  that  he  would  wait  for  the  answer. 
As  I  opened  the  note  to  read  it,  he  stepped  to  one 


MORE  DEVELOPMENTS.  365 

side,  and  then  I  felt  him  strike  me.  That  is  all  I 
remember." 

Felix  was  asked  to  describe  the  man,  and  his  de 
scription  agreed  with  that  of  Octavia.  The  officers 
then  left  and  said  that  if  he  found  any  clew  additional 
to  what  they  had,  he  should  let  them  know  at  once. 
The  thief  evidently  was  well  acquainted  in  that  neigh 
borhood. 

After  the  officers  were  gone  the  interview  which 
Felix  had  had  some  weeks  before  with  Sharp  occurred 
to  him.  He  had  not  thought  of  it  since  that  day. 
Mr.  Abraham  was  still  in  the  room  with  Felix.  He 
told  the  old  gentleman.  The  latter  said,  ' '  That  ex 
plains  it  all.  Sharp,  whom  I  do  not  personally  know, 
evidently  hired  that  man  to  take  your  life.  The  rob 
bing  the  fellow  did  because  he  loves  to  rob.  If  I  were 
you  I  would  have  Sharp  arrested  on  suspicion.  We 
will  consult  our  attorney  and  see  what  can  be  done. 
The  crime  shall  not  go  unpunished,  if  we  can  find  the 
perpetrator." 

We  need  scarcely  mention  that  Felix's  wounds  soon 
healed,  and  he  went  about  his  business  as  usual,  some 
time  before  the  Dives  returned  to  New  York.  They 
had  not  heard  of  the  assault  upon  their  friend  before 
they  arrived  at  home.  Felix  had  asked  Miss  Abraham 
to  please  not  communicate  the  information  to  them. 
He  hardly  knew  whether  to  shield  Sharp  or  not.  He 
felt  confident  that  the  man  was  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
We,  kind  reader,  know  that  he  was. 


366  MORE  DEVELOPMENTS. 

Until  the  sixteenth  of  November,  the  day  Jennie, 
Susie  and  Carrie  Dives  arrived  in  New  York,  the  home 
on  Fifth  Avenue  remained  closed.  Now  it  was  to  be  the 
scene  of  great  events  in  the  lives  of  all  whose  acquaint 
ance  we  have  formed  in  these  pages.  Carrie  came 
with  her  cousins  to  spend  the  winter.  She  was  to  be 
followed  by  her  father  and  her  hero  for  a  month's  stay. 
The  cook  had  called  on  the  attorney  of  the  Dives  to 
find  out  when  the  girls  would  be  home.  The  attorney 
told  him  the  day  on  which  he  might  expect  the  girls 
and  their  cousin.  He  was  there  promptly.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  was,  he  knew  that  he  had  a  good 
place  and  he  had  resolved  to  hold  on  to  it  as  long  as 
he  could. 

Miss  Odlavia  Newman,  who  had  come  and  gone  at 
the  house  of  the  Dives  as  if  she  were  going  in  and  out 
at  her  own  home,  also  came  the  same  day  that 
the  Dives  arrived.  She  greeted  the  girls  very 
cordially.  It  is  necessary  to  state  here,  that  after  our 
party  returned  to  Colorado,  Jennie  lay  at  the  point  of 
death  for  several  weeks,  suffering  from  pneumonia, 
which  she  had  contracted  by  falling  into  a  mountain 
stream,  during  one  of  their  rambles.  When  her 
friends  despaired  of  saving  her  life,  they  sent  for  her 
sister  and  Odlavia,  but  the  latter  would  not  go  because 
she  (as  she  alleged)  had  already  entered  upon  the 
preparation  for  her  wedding. 

"  Miss  Newman,  we  are  still  your  friends,  although 
you  did  not  treat  us  as  you  should  have  done.  Let 
me  tell  you,  therefore,  as  a  friend,  that  the  man  you 


MORE  DEVELOPMENTS.  367 

esteem  so  wealthy  is  in  reality  bankrupt,  bankrupt 
not  only  in  money,  but  in  character.  When  I  was  to 
see  my  cousin  in  Los  Angeles  this  summer,  I  saw  his 
mother-in-law.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 
She  led  Sharp's  little  child  by  the  hand.  It's  mother 
is  dead.  She  died  of  a  broken  heart,  Inhere  is  a 
dreadful  report  as  to  how  the  wicked  man,  Sharp, 
tried  to  rid  himself  of  the  entire  family,  even  his  pre 
cious  babe.  He  was  driven  from  the  presence  of  the 
woman  he  wronged.  He  got  no  divorce,  Octavia,  be 
cause  he  hoped  they  would  die  and  he  would  be  able 
to  get  hold  of  his  wife's  money.  He  cannot  do  it 
now,  as  long  as  the  child  lives.  I  guess  the  mother- 
in-law  will  see  to  it  that  he  never  does." 

Odlavia  became  scarlet  in  her  face  as  the  girl  told 
her  of  the  perfidy  and  vileness  of  her  intended.  Jen 
nie  continued,  "  Oh,  Octavia  be  warned,  for  God's 
sake  be  warned,  and  do  not  sell  yourself  soul  and 

body  to  that  awful  man.  Felix  tells .  I  will  not 

say  what  he  tells  us  about  this  man  Sharp.  I  dare  not 
tell  you  all." 

"  No,  you  dare  not  tell  me  all,"  said  Oclavia.  "I 
would  not  believe  the  lying  tongues,  though  you  told 
me  ten-thousand  times  more  than  you  have  told  me. 
I  know  Mr.  Sharp  as  well  as  any  of  those  persons 
who  try  to  defame  and  slander  him,"  said  Octavia. 
She  was  about  to  rush  from  the  room,  but  Susie  who 
had  been  a  silent  witness  of  all  that  the  sister  was  tell 
ing  the  woman,  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm  and  de 
tained  her.  She  said,  "  Octavia,  we  know  what  we 


368  MORE  DEVELOPMENTS. 

are  talking  about.  We  would  deliver  you  at  the  last 
moment,  but  we  see  that  it  is  useless  to  try.  When 
you  have  married  that  bad  man  you  will  know  the 
need  of  friends  more  than  you  do  now.  You  will 
always  find  our  home  and  our  hearts  open  to  you. 
Do  not  spurn  the  advice  of  those  who  love  you. 
'  Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend,  but  the  kisses  of 
an  enemy  are  deceitful,'  Octavia." 

The  next  morning  after  the  Dives'  arrival  in  New 
York,  Felix  was  notified  to  appear  at  the  police  court. 
The  officers  believed  that  they  had  his  assailant. 
Felix  at  once  communicated  the  news  to  Mr.  L,egis, 
the  lawyer  of  the  Dives,  and  the  two  went  to  the  court 
together.  Felix  recognized  the  fellow  in  an  instant. 
When  he  told  the  court  so,  the  would  be  murderer 
said,  "You  lie."  He  was  reprimanded,  and  the  evi 
dence  against  him  was  continued.  The  result  was 
that  he  was  held  for  trial  at  the  superior  court. 

The  young  villain,  who  was  old  in  crime, 
together  with  his  father  and  mother,  had  been  sus 
pected  for  some  time.  A  number  of  robberies  had 
been  traced,  and  the  police  felt  almost  certain  that 
they  knew  the  right  parties.  They  were  simply  wait 
ing  for  sufficient  evidence.  Finally  they  had  gotten 
the  scent.  They  recognized  the  fact  that  the  neatly 
dressed  and  professional  Sharp  was  the  real  culprit. 
They  were  simply  waiting  to  locate  Sharp.  He  was 
considered  the  richest  bird  in  the  flock. 

They  had  made  up  their  minds  to  catch  him  at  all 
hazards.  But  where  was  he  ?  They  had  been  to  his 


MORE  DEVELOPMENTS.  369 

room  a  number  of  times;  but  he  was  always  out.  He 
had  a  slate  on  his  door  stating  when  he  would  be  in, 
but  he  never  came  as  the  slate  indicated.  Of  late  the 
writing  on  the  slate  was  a  miserable  scrawl.  The 
police  solved  the  mystery  of  Sharp's  bad  writing, 
when  they  saw  that  the  slate  was  renewed  by  the 
same  man  who  had  robbed  and  nearly  killed  Felix. 

Mr.  Legis  asked  permission  to  interview  the  young 
villain  in  his  cell.  The  permission  was  granted.  He 
said  to  the  fellow:  "Now  whilst  I  am  not  your  lawyer, 
I  would  nevertheless  like  to  give  you  a  little  advice. 
You  had  better  plead  guilty  to  this  charge;  because 
everybody  knows  just  as  well  as  you  do  that  you  are 
guilty.  We  know  too  that  the  man  Sharp  hired  you 
to  do  this  villainy.  If  you  will  confess  that,  it  may 
help  you  in  getting  a  lighter  sentence.  In  fact,  if  I 
am  here  when  you  are  found  guilty,  I  will  plead  your 
youth  and  the  fadl  that  those  who  led  you  into  crime 
are  the  more  responsible.  Think  over  it  well,  young 
man,  and  adl  for  your  own  good  and  for  the  ends  of 
justice." 

The  attorney  said  to  Felix,  "  If  I  would  have  offered 
the  villain  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars,  he  would  have 
given  the  story  just  as  I  believe  it;  but  I  will  never 
bribe  a  man  to  do  right." 

We  have  not  told  our  readers  of  the  burglary  which 
had  been  committed  in  the  home  of  the  Dives  the  win 
ter  preceding  these  latter  events.  Without  going 
into  detail  let  us  say  that  it  had  been  carefully  planned 


37°  MORE  DEVELOPMENTS. 

and  executed.  The  Dives  lost  all  their  silver  and 
other  valuables  in  the  dining  room,  in  one  night. 

About  the  time  of  the  girls'  return  from  Colorado  a 
discovery  was  made  at  the  home  of  the  Dives,  which 
threw  suspicion  on  all  of  the  servants  of  the  house 
hold,  but  especially  on  the  cook,  and  on  him  who  had 
once  been  a  coachman  there.  The  new  coachman  in 
moving  some  boards  in  the  back  yard,  behind  the 
stable,  came  upon  a  box  sunken  into  the  ground.  It 
was  covered  over  with  a  lid  when  it  was  first  discov 
ered.  It  had  evidently  been  used  as  the  receptacle 
for  something.  Whatever  it  was,  it  had  been  re 
moved  a  considerable  time  before  the  box  was  discov 
ered.  The  dust  had  accumulated  in  the  box,  notwith 
standing  that  the  lid  fit  well  upon  it,  and  the  box  was 
beneath  several  boards,  which  lay  in  disorder  upon  it, 
so  that  the  dust  could  find  its  way  under  the  lid. 
The  man  reported  the  matter  to  the  girls,  and  they 
told  their  uncle,  wondering  what  it  could  mean.  He 
promptly  said:  "Girls,  I  know  what  it  means.  The 
person  or  persons  who  robbed  your  house  last  winter, 
hid  for  a  time  that  which  they  had  stolen.  When  it 
was  convenient  for  them,  they  emptied  the  box. 
Your  silver  may  have  been  there  until  last  summer, 
when  you  went  away.  Somebody  in  this  house  had  a 
hand  in  the  business.  I  can  hardly  suspect  Felix  of 
the  crime,  nor  could  the  women  you  have  about  the 
house  have  helped  in  putting  your  goods  there." 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement.  They 
could  not  suspect,  even  for  a  moment,  the  blue  eyed 


MORE  DEVELOPMENTS.  371 

Felix,  who  had  now  passed  into  a  most  honorable 
position,  and  who  was  beyond  suspicion  in  the  place 
he  was  employed.  In  fact  if  they  could  have  been 
convinced  that  he  was  the  criminal  they  would  have 
lost  faith  in  human  nature,  would  in  reality  have  been 
almost  heart-broken.  They  could  hardly  think  that 
the  cook  could  be  guilty  of  robbing  them  of  their  most 
valued  treasures.  They  agreed  to  say  nothing  about 
it  for  the  present,  to  anyone.  They  cautioned  the 
man  who  had  made  the  discovery  not  to  say  anything 
to  a  single  soul.  They  said  nothing  to  Octavia,  who 
still  kept  her  room  at  the  home  of  the  Dives  and  con 
tinued  her  preparations  for  her  wedding,  heedless  of 
what  had  been  told  her. 

They  did  tell  Felix  about  the  box,  who  without  being 
told  Mr.  Dives'  verdict,  said,  "  Girls,  someone  in  this 
house  put  that  box  there  to  hold  for  a  time  the  silver 
that  was  stolen  out  of  your  home.  I  know  you  do 
not  suspect  me, ' '  he  said  turning  an  inquiring  look 
upon  the  two  ladies.  ' '  You  would  not  consider  me  so 
base." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  impulsive 
and  outspoken  Jennie.  She  was  right.  They  did  not 
suspect  Felix. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

"  The  irrevocable  Hand 

That  opes  the  year's  fair  gate,  doth  ope  and  shut 
The  portals  of  our  earthly  destinies. ' ' — D.  M,  Mulock. 

On  the  iyth  day  of  December,  Carrie's  hero  arrived 
in  New  York.  He  at  once  went  to  the  home  of  the 
Dives,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  The  ladies  knew  what  day 
he  would  be  there.  They  had  invited  Felix,  Miss 
Abraham, and  Mr.  L/egis  and  his  wife  to  dinner  at  their 
home  that  evening.  Odlavia  was  also  there.  She 
had  asked  the  girls'  permission  to  be  married  privately 
at  six  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning  in  their  parlor. 
She  did  not  see  the  visitor  from  Colorado  until  nearly 
the  hour  for  dinner.  Now  that  the  day  of  her  wed 
ding  was  so  near,  she  was  nervous  as  well  as  very 
busy. 

When  Odlavia  entered  the  parlor  all  of  the  guests 
were  already  there  and  were  chatting  pleasantly 
together.  At  such  times  she  was  both  a  guest  and  a 
member  of  the  family.  When  she  entered  that  even 
ing,  Susie  Dives  arose  and  presented  her  first  to  Mr. 
I,egis.  She  said,  "Mr.  Legis,  allow  me  to  introduce 
to  you  Miss  Newman,  whom  I  think  you  have  met 
before."  Mr.  Legis  remembered  having  met  her,  and 
spoke  a  few  words  to  her.  All  this  time  Carrie's  hero 

372 

•» 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  373 

stared.  He  watched  her  as  she  was  introduced  to 
Mrs.  Legis  and  Miss  Abraham,  the  other  persons  in 
the  parlor  whom  she  did  not  know.  When  she  turned 
toward  the  hero  to  be  presented  to  him,  he  arose  and 
before  Jennie  could  say  anything,  he  said  to  Octavia: 
"  Bless  my  stars;  lyiza  Nieman,  my  sister."  At  the 
same  time  he  grasped  her  by  the  hand,  and  was  about 
to  imprint  a  kiss  on  her  lips;  but  she  did  not  give  him 
the  opportunity.  She  too  stared  when  first  the  hero 
called  her  his  s*ister.  She  knew  her  brother  Nicholas 
Nieman  in  an  instant,  (for  this  is  he  whom  we  have 
known  as  Carrie's  hero).  Before  Nicholas  could  kiss 
her  she  had  concluded  to  faint  and  faint  she  did.  Her 
brother  kept  her  from  falling  to  the  floor.  He  placed 
her  gently  upon  a  sofa,  and  in  a  few  moments  con 
sciousness  returned.  In  fact  the  keen  eyes  of  Mr. 
L/egis  sought  those  of  Messrs.  Dives  and  Felix  and  he 
read  what  he  himself  believed,  that  those  gentlemen 
were  convinced  that  Octavia's  faint  was  in  reality  a 
feint. 

When  she  returned  to  consciousness  she  faintly 
asked  to  be  taken  to  her  room.  Of  course  her  brother 
assisted  her.  L,et  us  follow  them  and  hear  her  brother 
give  an  account  of  himself.  He  said:  "Sister,  you  see  I 
am  not  dead.  I  know  too  that  mother  is  still  living. 
I  was  told  so  not  a  week  ago.  I  expect  to  go  to  see 
her  before  I  go  West  again." 

Here  his  sister  interrupted  him.  "  I  think  you  have 
treated  mother  very  mean  indeed.  If  I  were  she  I 
would  not  recognize  you  as  my  son." 


374  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

"  Odlavia,  do  not  forget  that  you  have  treated  her  just 
as  mean,  and  a  great  deal  worse.  Now  listen  whilst  I 
explain  to  you  the  whole  matter.  The  very  morning 
mother  came  to  Freeport  I  gave  up  my  job  on  the  rail 
road.  I  met  a  man  who  was  very  anxious  to  have  a 
job.  He  showed  me  his  references  from  one  railroad 
on  which  he  had  been  employed,  besides  those  he  had 
received  from  individuals  with  whom  he  had  worked. 
I  believed  that  the  Company  would  give  him  the  job 
if  he  would  tell  them  what  he  had  to*ld  me.  I  had 
nothing  to  lose.  It  was  my  first  day  after  pay,  and  I 
wished  to  go  farther  west,  so  I  allowed  him  to  take  my 
place.  He  had  on  good  clothes,  so  to  clinch  the  bar 
gain  and  to  save  me  something,  we  exchanged  panta 
loons.  He  said  he  would  ruin  his  anyway,  and  I 
might  as  well  have  them.  That  is  the  reason  they 
found  my  name  and  my  waist  measure,  together  with 
the  date  on  the  watch-pocket,  of  the  dead  man's 
pantaloons.  I  read  the  whole  account  of  the  man's 
death  and  how  my  mother  was  awaiting  my  arrival  in 
the  depot  when  my  supposed  dead  body  was  brought 
to  tfte  town  instead.  The  Dubuque  papers  con 
tained  a  full  account  of  the  whole  mystery.  I  wished 
very  much  to  go  to  mother  and  tell  her  that  I  was 
not  dead;  but  I  knew  that  she  would  try  to  per 
suade  me  to  return  home  with  her.  I  knew  that 
grand-father's  was  no  place  for  me.  I  would  be  com 
pelled  to  be  separated  from  the  rest  of  you  anyhow, 
and  she  would  worry  just  as  much.  I  thought  now 
that  she  believed  me  dead  she  would  be  better  off  than 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  375 

if  she  knew  I  was  being  kicked  around  in  the  world. 
I  thought  I  would  make  my  fortune,  when  I  would 
return  to  her  and  give  her  double  joy  for  all  her 
sorrow." 

"  You  did  not  make  it  very  fast,"  interrupted  his 
sister. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  a  providence  that  I  was  relieved  of 
my  job  on  that  road.  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  would 
have  been  killed.  I  would  have  been  more  careful. 
But  it  did  seem  as  if  I  was  to  miss  mother.  I  believe 
that  I  saw  her  with  her  veil  over  her  face  standing  at 
the  window  of  the  depot  in  Freeport  when  I  went 
through  on  the  express  train.  Because  I  did  not  see 
her,  my  future  and  hers  were  changed.  I  can  still 
make  her  happy.  And  I  will  do  my  best  to  prove  my 
love." 

"  You  say,  you  know  that  mother  is  still  living. 
How  do  you  know  ?  ' ' 

' '  Dr.  Burns  of  Colorado  Springs  gets  a  letter  from 
my  brother  Lee  now  and  then.  About  a  week  ago  he 
told  me  he  had  received  one.  Lee's  wife  and  little 
girl  died  last  spring. ' ' 

"Why,  you  do  know  more  than  I;  that  is  sure. 
That  explains  why  I  did  not  get  an  answer  to  my  tele 
gram  last  winter  when  I  told  them  I  was  so  sick. 
Does  Lee  know  that  you  are  still  alive  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  hear  from 
them,  without  their  hearing  from  me.  Dr.  Burns  has 
known  that  I  am  the  brother  only  a  short  time. 
About  two  years  ago  I  met  my  cousin  in  Denver.  It 


376  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

was  by  mere  accident.  He  saw  my  name  on  the  hotel 
register  and  introduced  himself.  We  had  quite  a  good 
time  together.  When  we  parted  we  traded  knives. 
The  last  I  heard  from  him  he  went  to  California.  He 
was  driving  a  team  I  think,  up  a  mountain  out  there." 
Octavia  said:  "Well,  this  is  stranger  than  fiction. 
That  explains  who  Felix  is.  You  know  the  man  who 
used  to  be  coachman  for  the  Dives  before  the  man 
they  now  have  ?  His  name  is  Felix.  I  believe  that 
he  is  Felix  Nieman,  your  cousin.  Did  you  not  meet 
him?"  "Of  course  I  did.  Susie  and  Jennie  knew 
that  he  was  my  cousin,  and  that  you  are  my  sister, 
ever  since  the  first  week  Jennie  came  out  to  Colorado; 
but  they  kept  it  from  you  because  you  used  to  snub 
him.  They  thought  they  would  not  let  you  know 
until  you  saw  me.  His  folks  in  Santa  Fe  do  not 
know  that  he  is  in  New  York.  He  wishes  to  surprise 
them ;  but  when  I  was  there  last  summer  and  about 
six  months  before  that  time,  I  saw  how  they  worried 
about  him.  I  did  not  know  then  where  he  was  or  I 
would  have  told  them.  I  almost  felt  like  writing  to 
my  mother  when  I  saw  how  his  mother  worried.  I 
realized  however,  that  the  circumstances  are  not  the 

M 

same.  Mother  feels  almost  certain  that  I  am  dead." 
Nicholas  told  his  sister  much  of  his  experience  since 
he  left  his  home  at With  all  that  is  of  inter 
est,  the  reader  is  already  familiar.  Octavia  insisted  on 
having  Felix  called  up  stairs,  that  she  might  see  him 
in  private.  Nicholas  went  down  and  called  him. 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  377 

When  Felix  Nieman,  the  coachman  of  the  Dives, 
came  into  the  room,  Odtavia  arose  from  her  chair,  and 
extended  her  hand  to  him  at  the  same  time  saying, 
"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ?  You  are  a 
bad  boy.  We  might  have  had  many  a  pleasant  hour 
together,  if  you  had  not  been  so  modest. ' ' 

Felix  said :  "  I  have  not  been  certain  of  it  very  long 
myself. ' ' 

She  continued,  "  I  thought  at  one  time  that 
you  might  be  my  brother.  The  day  I  saw  the 
knife  with  the  initials,  '  N.  N.'  upon  it,  I  thought 
you  must  be  my  brother;  but  because  you  did  not  rec 
ognize  me,  and  my  brother  was  reported  dead  and 
buried,  I  let  the  matter  rest.  Do  the  girls  in  the 
house  know  that  you  are  my  cousin  ?  ' ' 

"Only  since  Jennie  went  to  Colorado  and  got  ac 
quainted  with  Carrie's  '  hero,'  as  Nicholas  has  been 
called  for  more  than  a  year  already.  He  wrote  to  me, 
and  I  at  once  knew  who  he  was.  I  was  not  sure  that 
you  and  I  were  related;  because  you  call  yourself 
Newman." 

Whilst  the  Niemans  were  still  talking,  unmindful  of 
the  flight  of  time,  Susie  and  Carrie  Dives  came  up 
stairs  arm  in  arm.  Susie  said,  "  Do  you  people  know 
that  we  are  waiting  for  you  for  dinner  for  the  last  half 
hour  already  ?  If  you  do  not  soon  come  everything 
will  be  spoiled.  I  know  you  have  much  to  say,  but 
take  your  time  to  it. ' ' 


3?8  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

Nicholas  caught  hold  of  Carrie's  arm  and  drawing 
her  away  from  Susie  he  said,  "My  sister,  do  you 
know  this  young  lady  ?' ' 

' '  Oh,  yes;  I  know  her  well  and  favorably.  I  met 
her  the  first  day  she  came  from  Colorado." 

"  Well,  she  is  my  heroine,"  said  Nicholas.  "  She 
will  be  my  wife,  God  willing,  after  six  o'clock  on  New 
Year's  eve." 

Of  course  Octavia  kissed  her,  and  called  her  her 
"  sweet  sister."  Susie  gave  Felix  an  inquiring  look. 
He  knew  what  she  meant.  He  said:  "Since  it  is  the 
time  for  introductions,  I  wish  to  introduce  my  dear 
Susie,  who  expects  to  make  me  happy  by  becoming 
my  wife  at  the  same  time  that  Carrie  becomes  the  wife 
of  cousin  Nicholas.  But  come,  we  must  go  to  din 
ner.  ' '  Then  they  all  went  down  stairs  two  by  two  as 
they  hoped  to  walk  together  through  life.  Odlavia 
brought  up  the  rear  alone.  We  shall  see  whether 
there  was  a  prophecy  in  her  act. 

Whilst  the  happy  people  are  at  dinner  we  will  tell 
the  reader  how  all  these  engagements  were  brought 
about.  The  night  Nicholas  caught  Carrie  and  led  her 
out,  or  rather  swam  out  of  the  sea  with  her  at  Pebbly 
Beach,  he  found  on  arriving  at  those  "  horrid  rocks  " 
that  she  was  unconscious.  Nervous  and  excited  as  he 
was,  he  feared  that  she  might  be  dead.  In  the  agony 
of  his  heart  he  said,  "  For  God's  sake,  Carrie  speak  to 
me."  Just  then  consciousness  returned  to  her  and 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  379 

she  said,  "What  shall  I  say  to  you?"  He  replied, 
•"  Oh,  Carrie  if  we  must  both  die  here,  tell  me  that 
you  love  me.  I  want  to  die  knowing  that  you  loved 
me."  She  promptly  replied,  "  My  dear  hero,  I  love 
you  more  than  I  can  tell.  You  are  all  to  me."  He 
kissed  her  there  with  the  great  ocean  behind  him  and 
a  giant  wall  of  rock  in  front  of  him ;  but  it  was  the 
happiest  moment  of  his  life.  She  sat  down  on  a 
jagged  edge  of  the  rock.  When  the  water  came  to 
her  knees  he  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  to  a  place 
of  safety.  His  happiness  had  given  him  new  strength. 
When  he  placed  her  on  the  stones  of  Pebbly  Beach 
she  said,  "  There  Darling;  that  is  better." 

He  spoke  no  more  to  her  on  the  subject  of  his  love 
until  they  were  in  their  Colorado  home,  and  Jennie 
was  sick.  Whilst  they  were  watching  by  her  bed-side 
they  fixed  on  the  day  of  their  marriage. 

"  How  about  Dr.  Burns,"  do  you  ask  ?  Well  I  will 
tell  you.  Carrie  never  loved  him.  She  esteemed  his 
friendship.  One  reason  she  was  glad  to  have  him 
accompany  them  to  California,  was  that  she  might 
show  him  that  her  heart  belonged  to  her  hero.  She 
was  too  weak  to  tell  him,  the  night  he  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife  as  she  sat  by  the  window  in  her  sick-chamber, 
that  she  loved  another. 

We  have  seen  that  Felix  spent  considerable  of  his 
time  in  the  evening  in  company  with  Susie  and  Jennie 
Dives,  during  the  winter.  Just  before  Susie  was 


380  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

called  to  Colorado,  she  sent  Felix  a  note  stating  that 
she  would  be  pleased  to  have  him  call  at  the  parlor 
that  evening.  She  would  be  at  home.  Of  course  he 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunity.  He  had  a  pleas 
ant  chat,  and  the  evening  was  passing  rapidly,  but 
Susie  saw  that  Felix  had  something  on  his  mind,  so 
she  said  to  him,  "  Pray  what  makes  you  so  solemn  for 
the  last  half  hour?" 

Felix  said,  "  I  must  tell  you  before  you  go  to  Colo 
rado,  that  I  shall  miss  you  very  much.  I  have  missed 
you  all  this  summer.  I  did  not  know  what  you  were 
to  me  until  we  had  parted.  The  few  letters  we  ex 
changed  were  as  the  crumbs  of  bread  given  a  famish 
ing  man.  They  made  me  only  the  more  eager  to  see 
you,  and  tell  you  that  I  love  you.  Will  you  in  the 
high  social  position  you  occupy,  stoop  to  accept  the 
love  of  a  poor  man  ?  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  you 
happ'y,  if  you  will  be  mine." 

Susie  replied,  "  That  is  a  very  grave  question  for  me 
to  answer.  I  must  consider  others  as  well  as  myself. 
You  have  been  gaining  an  influence  over  my  affections 
by  your  manly  conduct,  ever  since  I  have  known 
you." 

Susie  asked  for  time  for  consideration.  Felix 
begged  of  her  to  make  up  her  mind  finally  until  next 
morning.  He  would  be  at  the  train.  But  he  did  bet 
ter  than  that.  He  went  to  Mr.  I^egis  next  morning, 
where  Susie  was  stopping,  and  in  the  hack  which  took 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  381 

them  to  the  Grand  Central  she  told  him  that  she 
would  be  his  wife. 

Miss  Abraham  had  been  trying  to  persuade  herself 
that  she  was  in  love  ?with  Felix;  but  they  had  a  talk 
together  one  evening  on  the  subject  of  marriage, 
and  from  that  time  she  was  less  demonstrative  in  her 
conduct.  They  are  still  good  friends,  but  nothing 
more. 

The  folks  at  the  supper  enjoyed  themselves  very 
much,  because  everybody  was  happy.  There  was 
nothing  to  mar  the  pleasure  of  the  evening. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  expectation  for  Octavia. 
It  was  the  day  upon  which  she  expected  Mr.  Sharp. 
Felix  had  not  told  her  of  his  suspicions  with  regard  to 
Sharp.  He  had  not  told  even  his  own  Susie;  because 
he  knew  that  they  did  not  have  a  very  good  opinion 
of  Sharp  in  that  house  as  it  was.  He  knew  that  any 
thing  he  could  say  to  Octavia  would  not  change  her 
mind  with  regard  to  her  acceptance  of  Sharp;  but  it 
would  make  her  a  sad  heart,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
there  would  be  sadness  enough  for  her  in  due  time. 

But  as  we  have  been  saying,  it  was  the  day  on 
which  Sharp  was  expected,  and  Octavia  was  anxiously 
awaiting  his  coming.  It  was  already  towards  evening. 
The  mail  man  handed  Octavia  a  letter  which  had  first 
been  sent  to  the  hospital  on  the  Island.  It  had  lain 
there  some  time,  for  it  was  marked  Omaha,  Dec.  3rd. 
Octavia  tore  it  open  in  haste  because  she  saw  that  the 


382  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

address  was  not  in  Mr.  Sharp's  hand.     She  feared  he 
might  be  sick.     Imagine  her  feelings  when  she  read: 

"  Omaha,  12:  3,  '9 — . 
Miss.  Octavia  Newman,  M.  D., 
Dear  Madam: 

Mr.  Sharp,  your  agent,  received  purchase 
money  $25,000  to-day.  The  bank  informs  me  that 
he  deposited  it  and  received  a  draft  payable  to  himself 
at  San  Francisco.  It  seems  strange  to  us  that  he  did 
not  get  a  draft  on  New  York  payable  to  you.  If  all  is 
not  right  telegraph. 

John  Baer." 

Octavia  called  Susie  to  the  room  and  with  a  trem 
bling  hand  gave  her  the  letter,  making  no  comment. 
Susie  read  it.  When  she  had  finished,  she  exclaimed, 
' '  The  thief. ' '  Then  without  saying  a  word  she  ran 
down  stairs,  and  called  Jennie.  She  told  her  to  go  to 
Octavia  instantly.  Next  she  rang  the  bell  for  the 
coachman.  She  told  him  to  bring  the  carriage  as 
quickly  as  possible.  She  would  be  at  the  front  door 
and  accompany  him  down  town.  When  she  met  him 
at  the  stepping  stone,  she  told  him  to  drive  to  the 
Western  Union  at  once.  They  soon  reached  their 
destination. 

When  they  got  to  the  office  Susie  sent  the  following 
dispatches: 

"  Mr.  Baer,  Omaha. 

Sharp  is  a  thief.  Stop  payment  of  draft,  if  not  too 
late. 

Miss  Newman." 


SOME  HAPPV  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  383 

"  Clearance  House,  San  Francisco, 

Do  not  cash  draft  on  bank  at  Omaha  payable  to 
William  Sharp.  He  is  an  embezzler.  Can  prove  as 
sertion. 

Miss  Octavia  Newman." 

The  next  day  Miss  Octavia  Newman  received  a  dis 
patch  from  San  Francisco,  stating  that  the  draft  had 
been  cashed  more  than  a  week  ago,  and  that  Mr. 
Ketchem  who  had  identified  Sharp  was  since  inter 
viewed,  and  had  informed  them  that  Sharp  had  taken 
passage  to  Japan. 

Of  course  Odlavia  was  heart-broken.  She  was  sick 
in  bed  and  prayed  to  die.  Jennie  Dives  told  her 
she  should  not  be  so  foolish.  She  had  gotten  rid  of 
Sharp.  That  fact  was  worth  $25,000.  It  was  of 
course  hard  to  think  that  she  had  lost  all  the  money 
from  the  True  estate,  except  $8,300;  but  that  was  a 
thousand  times  better  than  to  lose  herself,  soul 
and  body,  in  the  clutches  of  that  bad,  bad  man. 

Christmas  came  and  went;  but  Octavia  Newman 
spent  it  in  bed.  It  was  the  saddest  day  of  her  life. 
The  grief  and  chagrin  of  the  poor  girl  can  better  be  im 
agined  than  described.  When  the  clock  struck  six 
that  evening,  she  arose  from  her  bed  and  dressed 
herself.  Then  she  went  to  the  trunk  and  got  out  her 
wedding  dress.  Then  she  tottered  to  the  bath  room, 
and  holding  the  garment  with  one  hand,  she  lit  a 
match  and  held  it  to  the  dress,  and  watched  it  as  it 
was  slowly  consumed.  When  it  was  consumed  she 
said,  "There  girls;  those  ashes  show  the  condition 


384  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

of  my  hopes  for  this  life.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  will  not  die.  I  am  going  to  Jerusalem,  to  the 
position  offered  me  some  months  ago.  I  will  tell  my 
friends  there  that  I  am  weary  of  life,  and  that  I  am 
come  to  spend  its  few  remaining  days  among  those 
who  are  already  as  good  as  dead.  I  blame  myself  for 
all  my  misery.  If  I  had  taken  the  advice  of  my 
friends,  I  would  not  be  thus  broken-hearted  on  the 
day  that  brings  others  the  richest  blessings  of  their 
lives. ' '  Susie  told  her  that  the  very  day  itself  whis 
pered  to  her  heart  the  glad  tidings  that  there  was  a  bet 
ter  life  where  such  sorrow  as  was  hers  now,  could 
never  enter. 

On  New  Year's  eve  the  double  wedding  occured  in 
the  parlor  of  the  Dives.  In  addition  to  those  whom 
we  met  at  the  dinner  when  Odlavia  received  her 
brother  Nicholas,  there  were  present  Lee  Nieman,  M. 
D.,  and  his  mother.  We  will  not  try  to  describe 
either  the  costumes  or  the  ceremony.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  everybody  was  happy. 

Before  Christmas  already,  Felix  and  Nicholas  Nie 
man  went  to ,  Pa.  They  stopped  at  the  hotel  in  the 

village,  and  then  Felix  went  to  the  Nieman  home  and 
introduced  himself  as  the  cousin  from  Santa  Fe,  N.  M. 

Lee  then  spoke  of  the  hope  that  still  lingered  in  the 
heart  of  his  mother  that  her  son  Nick  might  yet  be 
alive.  Felix  asked  him  how  he  thought  his  mother  would 
feel  if  Nicholas  were  to  come  home.  Thus  gradually 
he  prepared  the  way  until  he  finally  told  Lee  that 
Nicholas  was  even  then  at  the  hotel  in  the  village. 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  385 

The  mother  was  told  by  Lee  that  her  son  was  still 
alive,  and  when  Felix  had  told  her  why  he  had  not 
made  known  the  fact  that  he  was  not  killed,  he  asked 
her  whether  she  would  forgive  him.  She  told  him 
the  joy  she  would  experience  at  seeing  him  would 
cause  her  to  forget  all  her  sorrow.  Then  they  told 
her  that  her  son  was  even  now  at  the  village  hotel. 

When  a  few  moments  after  that  her  head  lay  on  the 
bosom  of  her  son,  she  said,  "  This  my  son  was  dead 
and  is  alive  again;  he  was  lost  and  is  found." 

Odlavia  asked  Felix  the  next  day  about  the  cook's 
watch.  He  told  her  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it; 
but  it  would  be  an  easy  matter  for  him  to  inquire. 
When  he  returned  from  the  office  that  evening,  he 
went  to  the  cook's  room.  He  found  that  worthy  in 
his  den.  He  told  him  about  the  telegram  received 
that  day  from  Omaha,  and  that  they  thought  that 
would  be  the  last  of  Sharp.  The  cook  said  that  he 
knew  Sharp  to  be  a  bad  man,  and  that  he  would  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  he  had  committed  any  crime. 
Nothing  was  too  bad  for  such  a  man.  Felix  then  told 
the  cook  that  they  had  strong  suspicions  that  Sharp 
had  been  implicated  in  the  robbery  committed  in  the 
home  of  the  Dives.  He  noticed  that  the  cook  changed 
from  his  usual  ruddy  complexion  to  one  deathly  pale. 
He  admitted  that  it  might  be  even  so. 

Felix  felt  that  he  had  now  prepared  the  way  for 
his  question  about  the  watch.  He  said,  "Do  you 
know  that  Miss  Newman,  the  nurse,  is  my  cousin?" 
The  cook  admitted  that  it  was  news  to  him.  Then  he 


386  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

told  him  a  little  about  Odlavia's  family  history.  How 
her  father  had  been  brought  home  dead,  and  how  his 
watch  was  missing.  The  cook  trembled  violently  as 
Felix  told  him  this.  He  told  the  young  man  that  he 
was  sick.  He  was  subj eel  to  such  spells  of  late.  The 
doctor  had  told  him  only  a  few  weeks  ago  that  he  was 
suffering  from  fatty  degeneration  of  the  heart.  Felix 
asked  him  whether  he  could  do  anything  for  him;  but 
the  cook  said  he  had  medicine,  and  he  would  soon  feel 
better.  Then  Felix  left  him. 

The  day  after  the  Dives  and  Niemans  were  married 
the  cook  told  Mrs.  Susie  Nieman  that  he  was  too  sick 
to  work;  in  a  week  or  so  he  hoped  to  feel  better.  If 
she  would  give  him  a  vacation  for  that  length  of  time 
he  might  be  able  to  return.  Just  two  days  afterwards, 
his  body  was  found  outside  of  the  city  limits  along  the 
track  of  the  N.  Y.  Central  and  Hudson  River  Rail 
road,  horribly  mangled.  Life  had  been  extinct  for 
some  hours  already.  In  his  coat  pocket  was  found  a 
letter  addressed  to  the  Dives.  In  it  the  cook  confessed 
that  he  had  opened  the  door  for  the  man  and  the  son  with 
whom  we  have  already  become  acquainted.  Sharp  had 
planned  the  robbery  and  the  two  mentioned  executed 
it.  The  cook  said  he  received  nothing  for  his  part  of 
the  work.  Neither  had  he  put  the  box  in  the  back 
yard.  The  younger  of  the  two  robbers  had  done  that. 
From  that  box  the  old  lady  carried  the  silver  to  her 
room.  It  was  there  melted  into  a  brick  and  sold  by 
Sharp. 


SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE.  387 

He  gave  as  a  reason  for  the  part  he  took  in  robbing 
the  girls  who  had  always  been  so  kind  to  him,  that 
Sharp  and  the  man  threatened  to  tell  of  that  which  he 
now  would  not  keep  a  secret  any  longer.  ' '  Tell  Odla- 
via  Newman  that  the  father  of  the  young  man  who  is 
now  in  jail  for  robbery  and  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  is 

the  man  who  murdered  her  father  near  .  I  was 

with  him  at  the  time;  but  did  not  assist.  I  received 
his  watch  for  keeping  the  secret.  The  doctor  came 
driving  along  the  road.  We  were  sitting  in  a  fence 
corner.  It  was  dark  and  he  did  not  see  us.  When 
nearly  opposite  us  a  strap  of  the  harness  loosened,  and 
the  doctor  dismounted  to  fix  it.  We  were  cold,  hun 
gry,  and  without  money.  My  companion  picked  up  a 
stone  and  knocked  the  doctor  over  at  the  first  blow. 
Then  he  took  the  wrench  out  of  the  buggy  box  and 
finished  him  with  it.  We  put  the  wrench  in  the  sand 
on  the  edge  of  the  creek,  near  the  bridge.  I  am  not 
the  murderer.  I  never  killed  anybody  in  my  life; 
but  I  helped  to  conceal  that  and  other  crimes  which 
that  man  committed.  I  have  no  peace  of  mind  day  or 
night.  That  is  why  I  now  go  to  my  death,  in  the 
hope  that  I  may  find  peace  in  the  next  world." 

The  wrench  was  afterwards  found  at  the  place  indi 
cated  and  confirmed  what  the  cook  said.  The  young 
robber  received  a  ten  years'  sentence  at  hard  labor,  and 
the  old  man  was  imprisoned  for  life.  The  woman 
was  sentenced  to  a  three  years'  term.  If  all  had  been 
known,  she  too  would  have  received  a  longer  term. 


308  SOME  HAPPY  AND  SOME  UNHAPPY  PEOPLE. 

On  the  twelfth  day  of  February  Odtavia  sailed  for 
Jerusalem,  to  take  her  position  as  nurse  of  lepers. 
Even  that  is  far  better  than  if  she  would  have  become 
the  wife  of  Sharp,  the  moral  leper.  The  day  she  em 
barked  she  received  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Ketchem 
who  for  some  months  already  resided  at  San  Francisco. 
It  stated  that  Sharp  on  his  voyage  had  gambled  away 
most  of  his  fortune  stolen  from  Odlavia.  Finally  he 
became  involved  in  a  dispute  over  the  game,  and  his 
disputant  drew  his  revolver  and  shot  him  through  the 
heart.  Thus  closed  the  career  of  William  Sharp,  Esq. 

Nicholas  Nieman  and  his  bride  at  this  writing  have 
gone  back  to  the  stone  house  in  Colorado,  and  mother 
Nieman  has  gone  with  them.  In  the  spring  Lee 
expects  to  pay  them  a  visit.  Mother  Nieman  says  she 
has  another  daughter  now  in  place  of  the  dear  girl 
who  went  with  her  baby  to  heaven.  She  finds  in 
Carrie  Nieman  not  a  little  comfort  and  solace  because 
of  her  bereavement  in  the  death  of  Lee's  wife. 
The  Fadl  that  Octavia  has  gone  to  Jerusalem  does  not 
worry  her.  She  says,  "Octavia  always  preferred  to 
dwell  apart  from  the  rest."  Felix  is  to  be  a  partner  in 
the  store  of  Abraham.  He  will  reside  with  his  wife 
on  Fifth  Avenue. 

The  friendship  between  Jennie  Dives  and  Dr.  Burns 
continues,  and  who  knows  what  may  be  the  outcome  ? 


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